Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge
by CoffeeManiac
Summary: Sam and Dean return to Cayuga to investigate Big Foot claims. Before they can deal with that, they fall victim to a revenge plot that thrusts Sam into a fight against physical, emotional and mental attacks. Sequel to "Stubborn Survival". Best to read that first. No Slash. Story is complete. New chapters posted every two days. See warnings inside. Reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

A/N: This is a sequel to "Stubborn Survival". "Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge" may be able to stand alone but there is a lot of back story in the first one that will add to the experience of this one so I suggest strongly that you read it first.

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

This story is complete. There is no slash. I will be posting a new chapter about every two days. Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 1

 **Tuesday-Day One**

The Impala tires sang against wet pavement as Sam Winchester drove over the bumps and stones of an old road. Set back from the freeway, the crumbling asphalt wound through patches of trees and fields that framed old wooden farmhouses. Rain pummeled the roof while lightning flashed jagged lines across the dark sky. Great cracks of thunder split the silence every so often causing the windows to rattle.

Sam had turned the radio off several minutes earlier to cut out the distraction as he concentrated on negotiating the twists of the narrow two-lane. He watched the road while glancing back and forth for deer knowing the area was prime for wildlife. If he squashed a squirrel or raccoon he'd probably only notice a thump but if a buck leaped out into his path he'd destroy the car and probably kill himself and his brother in the process.

Dean snored softly in the passenger seat with his arms crossed over his chest and his head against the cool glass. He snuffled and wiped at his nose but didn't stir.

Sam didn't mind. If Dean was awake he'd either insist on driving or he'd spend the trip explaining all the ways he could be driving more effectively.

As the rain came down harder and visibility faded to almost nothing, Sam searched for the neon lights of a motel. He didn't actually mind driving in the rain or dark. He could navigate narrow roads without sliding or crashing. But, as midnight approached and his mind wandered, he knew he needed to end the day.

He figured Dean wouldn't object to a bed either. Whatever waited for them in Cayuga could wait another eight hours.

A couple of months had passed since Sam initially came to investigate the Big Foot claims made by hikers in the area. In those few weeks, two people had died and Sam still wanted to know what was hiding in the woods. All hunters knew that Big Foot was a myth but something was obviously out there.

Dean and Bobby vehemently opposed returning to the small town. They insisted they could find other hunters to find the real reason for the deaths. But, Sam wanted to come back. He needed to follow up because they abandoned the hunt before and now there weren't just sightings, there were victims.

As he slowed into a narrow turn, neon lights flashed from a sign sitting several feet away from the blinked at the sudden assault to his eyes and when his vision cleared he frowned at the sight of a small figure standing on the shoulder. Sam slowed further and did a u-turn because no one should be walking in a storm like this and certainly not on a lonely back road. Civilization remained five miles away according to the offensive sign that promised lodging and food.

Sam drove by the figure again which he could now see was a young male. He did a second U-turn so he could pull up next to him and stop. Dean slept through the twists and turns but the loss of rumbling movement drove him to a sputtering wake-up.

"What's going on?"

"I'm checking. Hang on," Sam answered as he opened the driver's side door and climbed out. He hoped no other cars came around that turn because it was fairly blind and if someone wasn't paying attention they could all be wiped out.

Sam held his hands out, non-threatening as he came around to the shoulder. The boy, a young teenager, pulled a coat closer around his body and took a step backward.

"Its okay, it's okay," Sam said. He had to yell because of the rain but he was trying to sound friendly. "I'm just checking. Do you need a ride? There's nothing out here for miles."

The boy's eyes darted from side to side then he looked back at Sam. The rain poured over his face. His hair and clothes were matted to this body.

"Look, my brother and I are driving into town," Sam said. "We can take you someplace safe. Your home, the police, a diner, whatever you want."

"I don't know you," the boy said.

"Sure, yeah, my name's Sam. My brother's name is Dean. We're on our way to Cayuga but we're going to call it a night."

"How do I know you won't do something? You could be psychos. You could have a thing for kids."

"But, we're not and we don't. I'm just offering help."

"Hey," Dean yelled as he opened the passenger door. "Get in or don't. We're wasting time out here and it's not getting any dryer. We can help you if you want. If you don't then there's a town down the road."

The boy looked at Sam who threw a glare towards Dean before looking back and shrugging.

"I'll take the ride," the boy said.

"Good. Dean, let him in," Sam said to his brother.

Once they were all settled again, Sam pulled out. He looked in the rearview at the boy sitting in the back seat. Skinny with dark hair that hung thick and long around his chin, he had large, round eyes that kept searching the interior of the car as if there was a threat inside.

"You're safe with us," Sam said. "You can relax."

The boy nodded but stayed sitting stiffly near the passenger door.

"What are you doing out here?" Dean rubbed his hands over his head as he asked.

"Trying to get ."

Dean turned in his seat to look at the soaked kid. "Cayuga? Kind of far from home, aren't you? Is it a runaway thing? Maybe a girl involved?"

The boy shook his head but didn't explain.

"What's your name?" Sam said.

"Griffin."

"First or last?" Dean said.

"Griffin Donahue. People call me Griff."

"All right, well, we're almost to the motel. Is that where you want to go? We can take you to Cayuga in the morning."

Griff shook his head. "I don't think I should go to a motel with…"

As his voice trailed off, Dean sighed loudly. Sam smirked.

"Yeah, I get that," Sam said. "But, we'll get you your own room. We'd take you straight through if the weather wasn't so bad. Or, you know what, you can go into the lobby and call your folks. Whatever you want."

"My mom is worried. I think everyone is," Griff said.

"It's okay, everybody runs away sometimes."

"Sammy did," Dean said.

Sam just sent another glare his brother's way as he remembered the abandoned shack in Flagstaff and the dog he had to leave behind.

"I didn't run away," Griff said."Some guy grabbed me when I was walking home."

"Wait a minute, you were kidnapped?" Sam looked into the rearview while Dean scrambled up and twisted around.

Griff nodded as he pushed back into the seat and squeezed his hands into the fabric of his wet coat.

"We got to call the police," Dean said.

"I just want to go home. The police won't help and I…I want to see my mom."

"Griff." Sam stopped, afraid to ask any questions but knowing he needed to. "How long have you been away from home?"

"A month, I guess. A few weeks. I'm not sure."

"Did they let you go?" Dean asked.

The boy nodded. "Dropped me off."

"Dropped you off? On the side of the road?" Sam's heart thudded in his chest. He couldn't believe this was happening again.

"There's the motel, pull in, Sam." Dean's order cut through Sam's panic and he turned into the gravel parking lot.

With a lifetime of being in jeopardy, Sam excelled in putting his feelings in a box. He shoved the fear down as he parked near the motel lobby.

The boy in the back of the Impala blinked furiously and pushed himself into the corner of seat. Whether it was on purpose or accident, he had angled himself in a smart way. He gained a clear view of both Sam and Dean.

Sam opened the driver's side door and climbed out without speaking. He moved into the backseat. The boy started patting around searching by touch for the door handle.

"It's all right," Sam said, wiping rain off his face.

"Relax, kid," Dean said.

"We just need to know what happened," Sam said.

"I want to go home," Griff said.

"I just need to know who took you. And why."

"I don't…I don't want to…look, just, let me go. I don't want to do this again."

"Griff, just take a breath," Dean said. "We're trying to help."

"Do you know who took you?" Sam said.

A sudden tear streaked down the boy's cheek. He wiped it away in a quick, embarrassed move but kept his eyes on Sam.

Sam sat back abruptly, the anger brought on by his fear dissipating. Shoulders slumping, he looked towards Dean who threw up his hands weakly and turned back around.

"Go on inside, Griff. Tell the person at the counter that you need the police. Then stay there. Wait for them to show up. The cops will call your family."

Griff didn't wait for another chance. He searched for the door handle and tumbled his way out on to the gravel. With barely a glance back at the Impala, he ran into the lobby.

Sam watched a woman walk up. Her expression turned serious and then worried and then she picked up the phone and started dialing. Sam turned his attention to the rain.

"We don't know if it's the same thing," Dean said. "A lot of perverts out be unrelated. It's probably unrelated."

"A boy? Dropped off on the side of the road? It's the same thing the Gleason's did."

"Charles Gleason is dead and his bones are burned. The talisman is burned. Sam, it can't be them."

"More family, maybe."

"Or a coincidence."

"You don't believe in coincidence."

Dean nodded but with that non-committed way that he liked. Sam listened to the rain and tried not to remember the Gleason's. He wanted to forget them. Forget what Charles did to him when he was a boy and forget what Richard did just two months before. He had been through a lot, knocked around more than most men his age but what they did, what they put him through was more horrifying than the worst monster he had fought. Sam just wanted to put it behind him but he was struggling and he knew it. He guessed that Dean knew too.

His brother had spent the last few weeks watching Sam, checking on him, asking him if he was okay. Dean had always been hyper-protective but since Sam's kidnapping by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason's ghost, he'd been thrust into overdrive. Sam felt Dean's eyes on him all the time and while it bothered him to be smothered by worry, it made him feel safe and for the moment, Sam needed that.

"We have to find out," Sam said."I need to know if there are more Gleason's or Gleason ghosts or…"

"Yeah, I know our lives are weird. Okay, let's give the kid a chance to get rescued then we'll do a FBI visit to the local cop shop and figure things out from there."

"We still need a place to stay."

"I'll go in. If Griff doesn't freak out then I won't get arrested."

Dean popped open the door. Sam watched as he made his way into the motel lobby. He nodded at Griff then spoke with the clerk. A few minutes later, just as a patrol car pulled up, Dean emerged with a room key.

Sam had returned to the driver's seat. The cold and rain had seeped through his clothes and he shivered as he parked near their room door. The motel was a chain and slightly higher scale than their usual digs so there were minivans and SUV's filling the parking lot.

Sam unlocked the trunk so they could retrieve their bags then Dean opened the motel room door. It was a simple place with two double beds, a desk and a bathroom. There was no kitchen or dining table but there was a coffee pot. Tan walls, blue and tan bed covers, tan carpet and flowered prints on the wall. It was generic and suited their needs.

"You take the first shower," Dean said. He dropped his bag in front of the nearest bed.

Sam didn't argue. He was wet, cold and exhausted. All he wanted was to be warm and to close his eyes. Hopefully he was tired enough to avoid nightmares. He dropped his bag by the other bed, dug out his shaving kit, some pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. Dean sprawled across the bed with a sigh.

The bathroom was big, with two sinks and bathtub/shower. Sam turned on the water then stripped down while it warmed. He stepped under the spray exhaling softly as the cold melted away. He let it sluice over him for a few moments before picking up the tiny shampoo bottle. It smelled like vanilla but he didn't care as he scrubbed it through his hair. After rinsing, he ripped open the tiny packet of soap and lathered it over his skin.

He used care on his legs. Some deep bruising still remained from the beating he took at the hands of Mark Foster and his skin was still sensitive in a few places. Just the thought of his time in the barn sent fear racing through his spine so he took a few deep breaths to dispel it.

Fear rarely took hold of Sam. He'd been fighting monsters with his father and brother for his whole life. He was well trained and capable of dealing with almost every threat. He didn't like being afraid and though it was inevitable and even healthy, he fought it. His father never actually claimed that fear was a weakness but Sam always felt like it was. Neither his father nor Dean ever talked about being scared. They soldiered on no matter what so Sam followed suit and hid his anxiety even when he thought it might crush him.

Once he felt clean and warm, Sam shut off the water, climbed out of the shower and grabbed a thin, rough towel from the rack. He dried then pulled on his pajamas before going back into the main room. His skin prickled at the slight chill.

He found Dean sitting on the bed with the laptop open.

"Found it," Dean said. "Griffin Donohue disappeared about a month ago. He was walking home from school. He's a senior at the Cayuga Central High School."

"Any witnesses or leads?"

"A couple of girls were walking the same street when a white van pulled up next to him. The side door slid open and a guy jumped out, shoved Griffin inside. Van drove away. There were some street cameras that caught a lot of it but there was no license plate or distinguishing marks. Sounds like the police did a full out search, brought a lot of people in for questioning, even got some assistance from the FBI but nothing panned out."

"White van," Sam said.

"Lots of white vans, Sammy."

"Around here. Near Cayuga? Near New Hope? And we just happen to find this kid? What are the odds?"

"Okay, okay, you're right. At the very least, we need to look into it. Tomorrow morning, all right? They'll have the kid's report by then. Maybe get some names. Griff was gone for a month so he must have picked up some information about his kidnappers."

Dean stood up and stretched. He winced when an audible pop sounded from someplace in his body.

"You're getting old," Sam said.

"Shut up," Dean said. "I'm taking a shower. Place like this should still have hot water even after you get done."

Sam smiled at his brother's teasing and pulled down the covers on his bed. He grabbed the laptop and dragged it over to his legs then settled the blankets around his waist while he leaned against the headboard. Mark Foster's face sprang up in his brain without warning and Sam cursed. He hated when that happened.

Just as Sam banished the image of his vicious tormenter, the motel room door burst in with a crash and splintering wood. Dressed in riot gear and brandishing guns, police officers pushed their way through the door. Faces covered in black head dress, flak jackets, and bullet proof vests made all of them seem enormous. And there were several, six or seven, maybe eight armed men filling the small room. Someone was yelling, identifying themselves as police. Two of them grabbed Sam who was standing and braced to fight though he didn't remember standing up.

He hollered a warning to Dean, just "Poughkeepsie" before his arms twisted behind him and he was shoved face first on to the bed. He felt the snick of handcuffs while more than one voice ordered him to stay down.

A moment later he heard Dean. "Easy, easy, fragile package here." Then the "oomph" as his brother was arrested too.

"Okay, okay," Sam said as two sets of arms lifted him up then maneuvered him towards the door.

"Where are we going?" Sam said.

"Shut up," one of them said.

Sam couldn't discern any real differences in them. One had a gut, one was almost as tall as Sam and one had an orange pack strapped to his chest instead of the black ones worn by the rest. The one giving the orders had a slight drawl in his speech. Maybe he was from Louisiana, maybe Mississippi but not Texas. The three surrounding Dean, who was still face-down on the mattress with his wrists handcuffed, looked entirely the same from Sam's limited view. Dean was naked other than a towel wrapped around his waist.

Then he couldn't see Dean anymore as he was shoved out the door. The blast of cold forced a gasp through his lips. The cold, wet of the sidewalk seeped into his socks. The air hung damp with the smell of mud and asphalt. The Impala dripped with water from the rain while flashing lights from a recently arrived patrol car lit up the windows and gleaming paint.

Sam winced when the grip on his arms gained pressure and he was pushed towards a police van.

"Relax, what's this about?" He said.

No one answered but the one with the drawl opened the back of the vehicle. Sam couldn't help but think of it as a paddy wagon as they shoved him to the entrance then ordered him to climb inside. Sam resisted. He pushed back and yanked his arm out of the grip of one of them. He turned on them, half expecting a bullet or taser. Instead two of them took a step back and held up their hands as if to ward him off while the third kept an uncertain grip on his arm.

"I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what's going on."

"You're under arrest," Georgia said. Sam decided his accent sounded like Georgia.

"For what?"

"Kidnapping of a minor."

"We didn't kidnap that boy. We rescued him off the side of the road. He must have told you that."

"Get in the van," Georgia said.

"Can I put on some shoes?"

"We'll get them for you."

With no other choice and police surrounding him, Sam shook his head and turned towards the back of the vehicle. Two of the officers guided him inside then followed behind. Orange Pack pointed towards the bench and Sam sat down. The same man bound chains around Sam's ankles. The chains were attached to a bar in the bottom of the vehicle.

"You can tell your story at the station," Georgia said from where he stood on the pavement outside the van.

Orange Pack and the second officer jumped out and the back doors slammed shut. Sam shook his head.

"What about my brother?" He said. His yell was either ignored or unheard because no one answered.

A few minutes passed while Sam grew antsy waiting for Dean to join him. He hoped Dean was talking their way out of this problem and not making things worse. When he heard then felt the van engine rumble around him Sam yelled again. It didn't make sense that they would take him and not Dean.

Still not getting a response, he leaned back and tried to puzzle out what was happening. He guessed they might want to keep them separate for questioning. That made sense. But, he worried about Dean. He could easily have attempted to escape, maybe even succeeded. Or he could have annoyed someone and gotten injured. With Dean there was a large degree of uncertainty.

Sam bounced his knee up and down listening to the rattle of the chains. The police hadn't read him his rights. They didn't actually have to until just before questioning but it bugged him anyway. They hadn't searched him either. He wasn't armed. He'd been too tired and too engrossed in research so when they burst through the door he hadn't reacted quickly. He'd only kept enough sense to try and warn Dean. Still, they hadn't searched him. What kind of police don't do a pat down?

Sam shivered. His feet felt icy. He didn't have a jacket. He wore blue pajama pants and a gray t-shirt with heavy white socks. Not nearly enough protection against a cold, rainy night riding in the back of a drafty police van. He hoped Georgia remembered to grab his shoes, maybe dry socks and a jacket too.

The van passed over pot holes and rough road. Sam counted turns and time in between committing them to memory because he might need to know later, and because, he couldn't stop himself. After fifteen minutes, Sam started to grow worried. He didn't think the town was that big so getting to the police station shouldn't take a long time. When it seemed like a half hour had passed, Sam started fidgeting with the handcuffs still binding his wrists behind him.

There was no doubt left in Sam that there was something wrong with his supposed arrest.


	2. Chapter 2

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 2

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Sam failed to get his hands free. He failed to loosen any of the chains holding him in the back of the van. He managed to keep good track of the timing of the turns and directions. He was always good at that kind of thing. A useful skill if one anticipated getting free.

When the van shook and rattled to a stop, Sam let go of any hope that he had been legitimately arrested. Unless the nearest town kept their police on a muddy, dirt road, he was definitely not at a station house.

Several minutes passed while Sam continued twisting and struggling with the handcuffs. If he were free when the door opened he could defend himself.

Calm remained for the ride, for the realization of danger, and even now, for the stop, wherever they were. He didn't feel afraid, just curious. He didn't feel unprepared, just alert.

He heard the twist and clank of metal before the van doors swung open. Both sides simultaneously swept a cold forest into view that was marred a moment later by Georgia and Orange Pack. Then the third fake officer and then a fourth appeared.

Orange Pack pulled himself into the van. His face, like the others, remained covered. They still wore the uniforms of a police task force. A second one followed Orange Pack then stood back with a Glock police pistol aimed at Sam. Orange Pack released Sam's legs but not his hands. He pulled Sam to his feet and told him not to make trouble.

Sam shoved into him hard with his left shoulder knocking Orange Pack into the other man and both fell into the bench. Sam made a fast run towards the back of the van where Georgia and the fourth man were just starting to react. Sam dove into Georgia, hitting him in the chest with his body and driving them both into the mud. Sam rolled away from him and on to his feet in a move that Chuck Norris would have been proud of. He started running, wet-socked feet pummeled against stones and roots and debris. He couldn't see much in the dark but managed to avoid running into trees. Thin low hanging branches slapped at him as he passed though and then something much harder slammed into his abdomen.

Sam let out a cry of pain as he crumpled into the leaves and twigs. The ground was cold and heavy with rain as he curled into himself trying to get his breath back after the devastating blow. A moment later, boots appeared at his head and then more joined in.

"That worked," one of the faceless said and lifted his mask. Sam squinted, not believing that George Bentley was standing there.

"You haven't lost your touch," another of the faceless said and Sam rolled over to look at him. His mind denied what he heard. The toneless volume with its touch of smugness swept through him like a nightmare. Bentley lost importance. Richard Gleason's ex-security chief was just another face compared to the new one.

When Mark Foster pulled the mask down to reveal himself, Sam's stomach turned. He wanted to run just as much as he wanted to stab Foster in the face. Scrambling backward, Sam shoved up on to his feet trying to keep Foster in view. His heart pounded in his ears. Emotion overplayed common sense and Sam took a running start, prepared to murder his tormenter. A moment later he yelled out in frustration when multiple people grabbed him and pulled him back. A jolt to the back of his knee and Sam knelt on the ground. Strong hands pushed on his shoulders and neck.

"You're on the losing end. Again. Just stay down and listen to me," Mar said.

"I will kill you," Sam said. The promise was unmistaken in his tone.

"Today, you won't. And all the posturing is a waste of time for both of us."

Sam forced a breath into his lungs. "What do you want? Where's Dean?"

"I want you to bring back Richard Gleason."

Sam replayed the words because they didn't make any sense to him. He looked closer at Mark Foster to see if he was hearing him. Sam attempted a shrug but the grip on him remained painfully tight. That didn't change his sentiment.

"Richard Gleason is dead," Sam said. "Heart attack. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember. And I remember that it didn't matter," Mark said.

"His body is burned. His magic necklace is destroyed. He's not coming back ever again. If we're lucky, he's in hell right now."

A blow to the head sent a cascade of pain through Sam's skull and for a moment there was nothing but black tinged noise. He closed his eyes to let the noise fade and get control of the pain. He couldn't pass out, not when he needed to escape.

"Don't be disrespectful," Mark said.

"There's no way to bring him back," Sam said, ignoring the roll of nausea through his stomach.

"You know how to do these things. I didn't understand what a 'hunter' was before but I do now. And I know that you're capable of spells and potions and concoctions. I know that you're not held by the laws of life and death the way the rest of us are."

"You're wrong. When we destroy the earthly remains that hold a spirit then that spirit goes away. It doesn't come back."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care," Sam said.

Mark turned his back. He walked a few steps towards the trees. Sam watched him, fighting to keep his head up but the weight on his neck and the pounding headache made it difficult.

Several moments passed in silence before Mark returned to Sam.

With a sigh, Mark said, "Then I don't need you."

The cock of a weapon broke into the silence.

"Wait, wait," Sam said, panic and fear filling him as he expected a bullet.

"Take him to the estate," Mark said.

"No," Sam said. He spent plenty of time getting beaten and tortured at the Gleason compound. He wasn't going back.

Mark stared at him. Sam felt like he was being examined with x-ray vision. He surged up, hoping to dislodge the hands on him but they just pushed harder and he winced at the pressure.

"There's someone who wants to meet you," Mark said to Sam then turned to the fake police entourage. "Take him."

A boot to the back and Sam sprawled onto his stomach. With his hands still bound he fell flat. Before he could scramble his legs underneath him, he was dragged up by his arms and hauled back towards the van. Without the pretense of being police, Orange Pack and the other men gave up following any protocol. Two of them lifted him bodily and tossed him on to the metal floor. When Orange Pack tried to grab his legs to secure them again, Sam kicked viciously which also served to propel him further from the door making him harder to reach.

"Leave him," Orange Pack said.

Sam stayed curled up long enough to see the doors close and hear the turn of the lock. Then he put his head down. Staring towards the metal ceiling he wondered where Dean was and he remembered the Gleason estate. Sam hadn't seen much of the interior. He had been held in the barn and in the cellar and he'd been in a mud room once. But, he remembered the look of the imposing house sitting like an evil specter holding the rest of them in its gaze.

He only stayed still for a moment. He allowed the fear to hit and then he worked on gaining control of it. Mark Foster had tortured him for days. The memory of hanging in the barn, in agony and starving haunted him. The constant anxiety while he waited helplessly for Mark to return and resume hurting him remained in the weeks since. Winchesters didn't suffer from PTSD, knew that his father would have told him to "button it up" but Sam struggled. So, he worked hard at keeping the fear and the flashbacks to himself.

But, as he lay in the bottom of a fake police van, hurtling towards another stint at the Gleason estate, Sam was galvanized by his need to escape. He wouldn't allow it to happen again. He twisted his body to the side, curling and contorting until he was sitting up. He reached around behind him, using his fingers to scrabble at the ankle buckles that were bolted into a bar at the base of the benches. He twisted his wrists and ran cold digits over the cheap leather until he found the metal pin that held the buckle in place. He held his breath while he carefully used it to fit into the handcuff lock.

Just as he got everything lined up, the truck engine fired with a grumble and the vehicle lurched forward. Sam lost his grip. He cursed then started scrabbling again until he could repeat the process. The bumps and turns of the dirt road made it nearly impossible as he tried to keep the pin in the handcuff lock. His wrists and fingers ached while the muscles in his arms protested but he kept working.

He was not going back to the Gleason compound.

When he felt the click of the lock releasing, Sam grunted with the freedom. He didn't take the time to pick the second lock, just left the handcuff dangling while he staggered to the metal door of the truck. The vehicle continued rumbling under his feet at a steady pace but they were not on dirt any longer. Sam knelt in front of the mechanism that would open the door. It was a simple lock with a sliding hasp and for the first time Sam could see clearly that it wasn't a police van. They hadn't stolen anything. They had merely put together a reasonable facsimile.

Sam grabbed one of the ankle cuffs and yanked but it wasn't going to come loose. He moved to the end of the rod that held all of the restraints. He was surprised when the bar was merely a tension rod. All he had to do was give it a couple of turns and the rod fell free which allowed him to drag it up to the padlock holding the door.

Feeling the pressure of time, Sam twisted the rod around until he could use another buckle and took a breath. His hands were shaking. He was cold and coming down from the adrenaline rush. He needed to calm down or he'd never get the lock open.

"Okay," he said and started working.

A few moments later the lock fell open and he unlaced it from the hasp.

He stopped to assess the van. He heard the asphalt against the whining tires. He guessed they were traveling at least 45mph. If he leaped on to pavement, he'd likely break his neck. If he leaped into oncoming traffic, he'd break more than that. There was no good "tuck and roll" for hurtling out of a moving vehicle.

Taking another precious moment, Sam screwed the rod back into place. He gave it several good, hard turns before wrapping his fist around the bar. Stretching with his other hand, he pushed the locking bar over, releasing the door lock. Like magic, the heavy metal doors flopped open letting in a gust of rain and cold wind that made Sam's breath catch. He kept his grip on the floor bar to keep from falling out and made his decision.

There was no traffic. The road was asphalt surrounded by trees on both sides.

He let go of his tether and fought his way to standing. The van rocked and threatened to tumble him out the door. He steadied as much as possible then took another breath.

"This is going to hurt," he said just before he leaped at an angle hoping to land on the side of the road and not in the middle of it.

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Dean Winchester jolted awake. One moment he hung in the cocoon of painless dark and the next he was sitting up and groaning at the pulsing ache in his head. He touched the left side above his ear and found drying blood.

"Hey, man, there's an ambulance coming. Just relax."

Dean squinted in the direction of the voice expecting to see the masked cops who knocked him out. Instead a young, blond man huddled close by while another stood over him. The second one was Hispanic looking.

"What? Who are you? Where's my brother?" Dean said.

The blond shrugged. "I'm Ricky Jay Lewis and that's Frankie Panduro. We're actors. We're doing a play downtown. A couple guys offered five hundred bucks…"

"Each," Frankie said.

"Each," Ricky said. "If we pretended to be cops and come in here.

Dean twisted his body and planted his hands on the bed. With a push, he lifted himself off the floor wishing his head would stop pounding for a moment.

"Why?"

"They said it was a prank, a joke or something," Ricky said."After they got the other guy out of here, they told us to leave. They paid us outside the door."

"But, it didn't seem right anymore," Frankie said. "So, we hung out, kind of waited. They loaded the other guy into the back of that fake police van. When they left we came back to check on you."

As Dean reached his feet, a streak of dizziness swept through him, almost taking him down again. The two men reached for him, helping as he planted his legs and took a couple long, slow breaths until the moment passed.

"Where were they taking him?" Fear wrapped a firm hold on Dean.

"We don't know know," Ricky said.

"They pulled out of the parking lot and went east but that was ten minutes ago," Frankie said."Hey, uh, you want some clothes?" At the question, Dean realized that he was barely wearing a motel room towel and nothing else.

"Yeah, my bag is at the end of the bed there."

Frankie picked up the right duffle and tossed it on the bed.

Adrenaline made a grand entrance as Dean started piecing together information. A bunch of fake cops had kidnapped his brother. The pain in his head took a vacation while he dug clothes out. Ricky and Frankie started for the door.

"Wait, stay," Dean said. "So, how many actors were there?"

"Four," Ricky said.

"No, five," Frankie said. "That one guy."

"Oh yeah," Ricky said. "I forgot about him."

"I counted four on me and four on Sam, right? So eight minus five actors, right?"

"There was a couple more that didn't come in," Frankie said. "You probably got five real guys who set this up."

"Did you get any names?"

"The guy who hired us was a dude named Bentley, um, George, right?"

"Yeah, right," Ricky said.

Dean stopped for a second as he slipped his shirt on. His body tightened. "George Bentley? Was there a Mark? A Mark Foster?"

"I didn't hear that name," Ricky said.

"Me either," Frankie said.

Dean pulled on his boots and stood up. "Thanks for your help." He walked past the two men. "East, right?"

"Right," Frankie answered.

Dean ran out to the Impala forgetting about them now. He needed to get on the road and find the fake police van. Just knowing that it was heading east wasn't much but he was familiar with the area and there was only one main road out of town. He also knew that if George Bentley was involved then he had a likely destination to head towards.

As he pulled on to the road he dug out his cell phone and dialed.

"Yeah, what?" a gruff voice said when the ringing cut off.

"Bobby, Sam's gone. It's Mark Foster again. Son of a bitch," Dean said, yelling out in frustration.

"Foster's in jail. What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. Call that sheriff and find out. I got a couple guys here telling me that George Bentley hired them. If Bentley is involved then it has to be…"

"Foster. Right. Okay. What are you doing?"

"Heading to Cayuga. It's got to be where they're taking him."

"I'll call the Sheriff. You be careful and keep me informed."

Dean disconnected the call. He couldn't understand what Mark Foster would want with Sam. The Gleason's were all dead. If he wanted revenge then he just had to kill both of them at the motel. And why wasn't he in jail?

The narrow two-lane highway curved through the woods on either side. Still wet and puddled, Dean forced himself to keep his speed down. Wrecking the Impala wouldn't find Sam any faster. Driving past him wouldn't help either. Clouds kept the moon and stars hidden and the road dark. Only a few lights stuck out and those were dull yellow creating a murky view. Dean's head and neck throbbed from where one of Foster's people clobbered him and he wondered if some of the cloudiness of his vision was related to the injury.

He stayed on the same road. Every instinct he had told him the fake cops would take Sam to Cayuga. He drove for a long time. At least it felt like a long time before tail lights caught his attention. Flaring on the side of the road, he counted two vehicles on the shoulder. Dean cursed, his insides tensing as he pulled in behind them.

He climbed out and jogged passed the other two vehicles. He counted three people standing and a woman looked up from where she knelt on the ground.

"Are you with emergency services?" The woman said.

Dean shook his head. "No."

"There's an injured man here. Do you have any training?"

Dean approached. A jolt of cold fear stabbed him when he saw Sam lying on his back, eyes closed, not moving.

Dean circled the woman. She was pretty in a plain way and looked about ten years older than him. He knelt by Sam's side. He gave him a cursory exam, seeing blood on his face and tears in his clothes.

"Sam," Dean said. He patted his cheek.

"You know him," the woman said.

"He's my brother…is he?"

"He's alive. I'm a nurse and I can tell you that he's breathing very well, his pulse is strong. There are no open fractures."

Dean blew air out of his lungs. "Sam," he said. "Sammy, come on, wake up for me."

Dean looked at the woman and then at two men still standing there. "Did anyone see what happened?"

One of the men, maybe late fifties scratched his bald head. "I was driving behind this big truck-looking-thing and the back door just flung open. It startled me so I slowed right down. Didn't know what was going on, you know? Anyway, that boy there, your brother, he just threw himself right out that door."

"He what?"

"I didn't have my lights on and it took me a second, but then I went up the road apiece and did a u-turn and came back."

"We weren't far behind him," the woman said. "My husband saw movement and he thought it was a deer…"

"Yeah, I just figured it was a deer or an elk," the second man said."But then I realized what it was so we pulled right over to help."

"Can I move him?" Dean stared hard at the woman to gauge her answer.

"I wouldn't recommend it. If he has any sort of injury, you could make it worse."

"Do you see any injury that means I shouldn't move him?"

She shook her head, looking helpless and worried. "No, but that doesn't mean anything."

"I have to get him out of here. He jumped out of that truck for a reason."

"Police and rescue should be here any time," the woman said.

Dean didn't want to make a decision. He looked at Sam who still lay silently unmoving except for the air filling his lungs.

"We're going," he said. Dean looked at the two men. "I need help getting him up."

"You could do some damage," the nurse's husband said.

"So could the people he's running from."

The bald man shrugged. "Just don't sue me later, all right?"

Dean would have lifted Sam alone if he needed to. He'd done it before. But, having help made the process faster and smoother. Sam hadn't gotten any lighter over the years and it took some effort to lift him up.

The nurse and her husband didn't help but they didn't interfere. Within a few minutes, the bald man and Dean had half-dragged, half-carried Sam to the Impala and managed to shove him inside. It wasn't graceful but Dean pulled him from the driver's side and got him all the way in. The bald man situated Sam's legs. Through it all, Sam stayed unconscious.

The nurse appeared at Dean's side. He was sweating, breathing hardand scared that Foster and his cohorts would return at any moment.

"Let me just check him one more time before you go," the nurse said.

Dean stood back while the woman took Sam's pulse and did some other medical things. When she stood up, she gave him a weak smile. "He seems about the same. I'm not a doctor but he's been unconscious a long time. I would take him to a hospital."

Dean nodded at her then took one last glance at Sam before getting back behind the wheel of the Impala and doing a fast U-turn on the highway so he could head back to their motel. He didn't like the idea of returning there but all of their stuff was still in the room. He had to grab it all before he could take Sam someplace safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 3

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 **Wednesday-Day Two**

The witching hour descended over their new room. Sam slept restlessly, flailing his arms and moving his legs but still, he was sleeping. When he woke in the Impala he'd been angry and disoriented. Dean had used his best "Dad" tone to settle him down. Once Sam recognized his surroundings he calmed down but he couldn't remember a lot of the details of his kidnapping and escape. Dean had found a sizeable bump on the back of Sam's head. He knew that concussions and trauma can lead to memory loss so he didn't panic at the threads of amnesia. He expected that once Sam was rested, he'd remember more.

The first thing he needed to do was find a place to hold up for a while so he had gathered their belongings from the first motel and then drove them fifty miles in the opposite direction and found another place to stay. He used a shiny new credit card to book them into a Holiday Inn knowing that no one would expect them to stay at a decent place. Then he'd woken Sam up and helped him lurch his way inside.

Once he managed to get his brother into bed, Dean retrieved their duffle bags and settled in. He planned to stay there for at least a day while Sam recovered from his concussion, scrapes and bruises.

After Sam was safely sleeping, Dean phoned Bobby.

"I got him. He's beat up, has a goose egg on his head, nothing new."

"I know your Daddy liked to downplay injuries, son, but skulls are tricky. He might seem just fine one minute and throw a clot the next."

"Well, thank you, Bobby, for that ray of sunshine."

"I'm just saying to keep a close eye."

"I will, don't worry. But, Foster got him in the hospital the last time and I'm not taking any chances."

"Yeah, well speaking of that bucket of slime, he got out on bond just a little after we left town. He showed up for his arraignment and then he up and disappeared. His lawyer made an official missing persons report a few days ago."

"Great. That's just perfect. He kidnaps and tortures kids and he kidnapped and tortured Sam and they just let him out? Great freaking justice system we have there."

"I know, but, what's done is done. Do you know what he wanted with Sam?"

"Not yet. Sam's pretty out of it. He remembered Foster being there but couldn't tell me why. I'll try again in the morning."

"Dean, I'm in the middle of a poltergeist thing but I'll head in your direction as soon as I can."

"I appreciate it but I think we're okay for now. I'll call you if we get into trouble."

"Don't you mean when?"

Dean smiled. "You're really knocking 'em out of the park tonight, aren't you?"

"I've been known to be a decent wit from time to time."

"Maybe half," Dean said and chuckled at himself.

"Easy there, son. I can still put you over my knee."

Dean laughed and disconnected the call. He slipped the phone into his pocket before sitting on Sam's bed. His brother shifted on to one side, facing in Dean's direction and curled his legs up.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. His voice sounded small and young. He twisted on to his back.

"Not again," he said before quieting down and slipping into a deeper sleep.

Dean put his hand on Sam's arm, hoping the weight and heat would offer some kind of comfort. Whatever Sam had been dreaming about, it was troubling.

Dean moved to the other bed and scooted down to get comfortable. He used the television remote and started skimming channels. He stopped on a movie featuring Dennis Quaid and a bunch of people trapped in the desert after a plane crash. It looked like it was just getting started so Dean figured it would kill a couple of hours.

Dean jerked awake in time to see the finale and then the credits roll. He rubbed his eyes and got up. He checked on Sam who seemed to be sleeping more peacefully then padded his way into the bathroom. When he came out he found Sam sitting up straight and breathing hard.

"You all right?" Dean said.

Sam looked at him for a second or two before awareness kicked in.

"Yeah, I'm…nightmare, I guess."

"You've been fighting them since we got here. What's going on?"

Sam flopped on to his back and threw his arm over his eyes. "I can't believe that psycho is back."

"He jumped bail."

"How'd he get bail?"

"Don't know. But, uh, at least we have a heads up now. No surprises."

Sam didn't respond to that. He rubbed his eyes and groaned softly.

"Jesus, did something run me over?"

"Apparently just leaping out of a moving vehicle can mess you up pretty good, Sammy."

Sam grunted his acknowledgement.

Dean sat on the opposite bed. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Hungry. Thirsty. I have to pee."

"Sounds about right."

Sam turned around and put his feet on the floor. He looked around the room then looked at Dean.

"A little fancy for us, isn't it?" Sam said as he stood up.

"Life's not all mystery stains and skeevy smells."

Sam made an unsteady path to the bathroom and closed the door. After the toilet flushed, the shower started so Dean decided to pull out the laptop and look into the Gleason estate. He hadn't confirmed the destination with Sam yet but Dean was fairly certain that Foster was taking Sam there. Dean wanted to know if it was deserted or occupied and Foster's connection to it.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam emerged, wrapped in a towel and looking healthier. He still needed more sleep and, truth be told, Dean could use it too. He had taken some ibuprofen for his headache but it had worn off some time earlier. He felt ragged from the multiple adrenaline rushes but morning was just starting to peer through the motel window and he didn't expect to get any sleep.

Sam jutted his chin towards the computer. "Find anything?"

"Maybe. The Gleason property is still in probate but a relative moved in a few weeks after the police cleaned it out."

"So there are some left."

"Well, the males are all dead but, apparently Richard has a past indiscretion. She's twenty three and he's been paying for her upkeep. He listed her as his only heir. She's been away at Georgetown going to school but she graduated and then Dad died so she came back to get her inheritance."

"Where's her mother?"

"Haven't gotten that far."

"You look like hell," Sam said.

"Thanks for that."

"Have you been up all night?"

"Most of it. Fell asleep watching a movie. There was a guy in it, reminded me of you."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Cried a killed early in."

Sam gave a weak chuckle while he pawed through his duffle and pulled out clean clothes.

"We got to do laundry," he said.

"This place has a laundry room and a restaurant. You feel up to some breakfast?"

Sam pulled out a plastic baggy containing a few different bottles. He opened the bag, took out a white plastic bottle and shook some pills into his hand. He dry swallowed them then took his clothes back into the bathroom.

Dean took his non-answer as an affirmative to food. He wasn't worried about getting cleaned up just yet so he pulled on his boots and packed up the laptop.

When Sam emerged again, he looked halfway human and Dean figured they wouldn't get ejected from any public places.

"What's the girl's name?" Sam asked the question as they entered the nearest elevator.

"Alice James. Apparently they call her AJ."

"Is James her last name?"

"No, middle. Her last name is Gleason."

"So, Richard gets some woman pregnant, doesn't marry her but the kid gets his last name and financial support. I wonder if they ever spent time together."

"I don't think we're going to find that on the internet."

"Maybe social media. I'll see if she has a MySpace account."

"The 'not porn'," Dean said, remembering Sam's explanation of MySpace. "She's also named after Richard's father, James."

"So, Richard definitely wasn't denying her existence. I'll bet they had some sort of a relationship."

"Seems like someone in Cayuga would've mentioned it when I was looking for you."

"Yeah, well, we'll find out."

They entered the restaurant with Dean leading the way to the hostess stand. An older woman with thick wrinkles and gray hair greeted them. The layout of the restaurant reminded Dean of Denny's or Biggerson's or Village Inn. A few booths along the walls, a big dining room filled with tables and all of it sitting on worn carpet.

The hostess pointed towards a small table near the bathrooms and said that a waitress would be around to take their order. Then she put her hand on Sam's arm and looked at him like he needed mothering.

"You look a little peaked, young man. Maybe a bit more sleep, hmm?"

Sam shrugged and smiled before he made his way towards the table. Dean followed thinking that his brother did look like hell and the old woman had an excellent point about getting more sleep.

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down automatically facing the entrance while Dean positioned himself to face the side door exit. Dean glanced around looking for anyone who might be a threat but the only people in the restaurant were three different families with children, and a couple that was likely newlywed.

Dean opened the menu and decided on something called the "Triple Meat" that came with eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and ham. While Sam continued staring into his menu, the waitress arrived and introduced herself as Champagne. Dean stopped to confirm the name on her pin before he ordered coffee for him and Sam, then added orange juice for Sam too because he figured the vitamins would do him good.

Champagne smiled revealing a slight gap in teeth that looked too big for her mouth. Her bobbed black hair was heavily greased so it lay flat against her skull. With pale skin and red-painted fingernails, Dean felt a vague urge to find a machete.

Champagne promised to be right back with their drinks. Dean watched her scurry back to the kitchen while Sam finally put the menu down.

A few minutes later, Champagne returned to deliver the coffee and juice. Sam ordered a vegetable omelet while Dean ordered his early heart attack.

"She kind of looks like a vampire," Sam said, nodding towards their waitress.

"I don't think we can cut her head off in here," Dean said.

Sam didn't react to the joke and Dean knew that he'd stopped listening almost as soon as Dean started speaking.

"Foster thought I'd be able to bring Gleason back again," Sam said.

"What happened when you told him you couldn't?"

"He didn't like the answer. But, uh, he told his friends to take me to the house. He must have meant Gleason's."

"Yeah, that's what I figured too. I was heading there when I found you on the road."

Sam sat back and folded his arms. "Going back there wasn't going to happen."

"So, jumping out of a moving vehicle, that seemed like a better idea."

"Yeah, actually," Sam said then smiled."Foster said there was someone there who wanted to meet me. Could it be Gleason's daughter? I mean, why?"

"Tomorrow, I think we should take a little trip to Cayuga and find out, don't you?"

"Not tomorrow. We should go today, as soon as possible. I jumped that van. They're going to expect me to call the cops. They'll clear out."

Dean nodded, considering the possibility, but discarding it quickly.

"She doesn't have a reason to run. You don't have any proof that Foster was going to take you there. My guess is he's in the wind so she'll just sit tight, deny everything and wait us out."

"You don't know that."

"Nope, but she's got a big house, money and a shiny college degree from Georgetown. It's a lot of reasons to feel safe."

Champagne returned with their food. She was quick and efficient. She didn't linger or try to make conversation which was good because Dean wasn't interested in talking to her.

Sam pushed his omelet around with a fork. "Why wait?"

"Because I'm tired and my head hurts."

"I'll drive."

"Okay, you're tired and your head hurts."

"Since when do we let a couple of bumps stop us from a hunt?"

"Bobby said you could throw a clot."

"He said what?"

"A day won't matter."

"It matters to me. I want to know what's going on. I can't believe you don't."

"It's a day."

"I'm going with or without you."

Dean sighed loudly. He made sure that Sam and most of the patrons heard him. He mixed some egg into his hash browns and took a bite, chewed, swallowed and glared at his brother.

"Fine, Sam, we'll just drive straight into the storm. Who needs research or information when we have concussions and righteous indignation?"

"We've done more with less."

Dean just glared. They were professionals. They knew how to work a job. And this wasn't it. Plus, Bobby said that Sam could throw a clot.

Sam leaned forward and cut a piece of his omelet with cheese, broccoli and onion oozing out the side. He forked it and brought it to his mouth then frowned and put it back on the plate.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean's question sounded like an order but he didn't care.

"Not hungry."

"Yeah, because you're nauseous, because you got whacked in the head and jumped out of a truck."

"All right, Dean, enough, I get it. I hear you. Fine, we'll give it a few hours. Drive out tonight after dark. But, that's it. As soon as it's dark, I want to be on the road."

Dean didn't respond. No matter what response it would sound condescending or smug so he drank coffee instead.

Sam picked up the orange juice and drained it before sipping at his coffee. He didn't touch his breakfast again.

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Sam pressed the elevator button while he checked his pocket for the room key. He felt the hard plastic of the card against his fingers and felt vaguely relieved. For some reason, he always worried that he wouldn't have the key to get back in their various rooms. He guessed it had something to do with his father's multiple admonishments to make sure he had a key for whenever he was leaving to go to school or just out. He got in the habit of periodically checking for the key, just to make sure.

Dean stood beside him waiting for the elevator doors to slide open. A dark bruise started from someplace under his hairline and splashed out across his cheek and chin. As far as injuries go, it didn't look too serious but it reminded Sam of the previous night.

Mark Foster hired security and actors to arrange for Sam's fake arrest. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go to just to find out that Sam couldn't help him anyway. Or was bringing back Richard Gleason just a side job, maybe the real mission was to get Sam back to the Gleason mansion.

Sam wondered if they were completely wrong. Maybe Foster didn't mean that Sam should be taken to the estate in Cayuga and to Alice James Gleason. Maybe she had nothing to do with any of it. Some other cohort of Foster and Gleason could have a motive for wanting Sam. But, that seemed more far-fetched than the fake cops.

No, Sam learned early that where there's smoke, there's fire.

The elevator doors slid open a moment after the floor indicator dinged. Sam walked inside with Dean beside him. They were alone as they made the trip to their floor. Dean had taken his phone out and was scrolling through numbers though Sam didn't know who he was planning to call. It could be Bobby or Ellen, maybe even Jo, but Sam couldn't think of anyone else his brother would be reaching out to.

When the elevator doors slid open again, Sam found himself staring at the same group of fake cops that had kidnapped him the night before. They were dressed about the same although Sam noticed that there was no orange pack hanging off any of them. Sam felt like they were all moving in a slow motion blur as he punched the man nearest to him. As he dove full force into the battle, he could hear Dean doing the same. Punches and kicks were thrown. Sam took a hard hit to the side of his head that put him down on one knee for a moment then he surged back up with a hard thrust into the man's abdomen.

Sam twisted and saw Dean's Colt laying a few feet away from him. He made a dive for it but a kick into his side threw him off course. Just as he skidded into the back wall of the elevator Dean landed next to him, bleeding from a head wound and just barely holding on to consciousness. Sam started up, surveying enough to see that three of their attackers were scattered and moaning on the ground. But one of the standouts drove a knee into Sam's cheek. Pain flared along his jaw knocking him senseless before a crushing blow to the back of his neck sent him into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 4

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Sam woke up wishing he hadn't. His mouth tasted like metal and his lips felt glued. A weird tingling sensation pulsed through his neck and limbs. His head felt heavy and it was hard to keep his eyes open.

He groaned as he rolled from his back to his stomach, the injuries of the last couple of days making their presence known. His hand landed on something bony and he jerked back only to find his brother lying next to him.

"Dean," Sam said while trying to garner some balance.

He situated himself so that he was sitting but that ignited a wave of nausea. He took long, slow breaths and held his head in both hands while he pressed back the need to be sick. After a few moments he pushed on to his knees and shifted around on the hard, dirt floor.

Dean was lying on his back. One leg was bent half while the other was lying nearly straight. His arms were pulled above his head with his wrists shackled into some medieval looking chains that were affixed into the wall.

Sam spent a couple of minutes checking his brother for injuries while he tried to rouse him back to consciousness. Dean remained stubbornly still despite the fact that he didn't seem to have any bumps or bruises that would account for it.

Sam started working on the restraints next. The manacles holding Dean's wrists looked welded closed. There was no lock or anything that could be removed. The same held true for the chains leading to the wall. When Sam looked closer he could see some singed skin beneath the metal. After locking him up, someone had soldered the metal into one piece.

"Come on, Dean, wake up," Sam said.

Sam sat next to Dean and leaned against the wall. He thought about waking and the weird taste in his mouth. While he reviewed the first moments he realized that he had been drugged. Dean must have been also and he hadn't woken yet.

He remembered the fight in the elevator. They had been outnumbered and apparently, outmaneuvered because they fell in a dismal defeat.

Sam looked around the cellar. He remembered it though only vaguely. Someplace, not far from the steps was a set of posts driven into the ground. He had been tied down to them. Mark Foster had used it as a place for Sam to briefly recover from days of torture and neglect.

Sam shivered. He rubbed his arms and tried to focus on Dean. He refused to think too much about being back in the cellar or knowing that the barn was so close.

Cold, damp air hung still around them. Sam smelled the musty odor of mud and stone. He touched Dean's face, feeling a chill against his fingertips. He took off his flannel over shirt and tucked it around Dean's torso. It wasn't much but it was all he had.

Sam stood up. He walked in a crouch to the edge of the stairs. Looking up, he could see light peering through the slats of the two doors. He climbed slowly, listening for any noise over the creak of his footsteps but didn't hear anything. When he reached the halfway point he pushed on the wooden planks that served to cover the cellar expecting them to be locked. He recoiled when they burst open letting in the light of a cloudy day.

Cautiously, Sam climbed up, looking in all directions as much as he could, expecting a shovel to the head or a gun in his face. Instead he emerged into the open lawn, the barn standing a few hundred feet away and a young woman sitting cross legged in front of him.

With brown hair hanging to her shoulders, iron straight and thin, she turned brown eyes in his direction. Thin lips spread into a smile as she held out her arms. She wore a white, cotton dress that curled around her ankles and brown, open-toed sandals.

"Welcome to my home, Sam Winchester," she said as she folded her ankles together and stood up in one fluid motion.

"Did the 70's spit you out?" Sam didn't know where the question came from. It was out of his mouth and hanging between the two of them before he could stop it.

She held her hand up, her fingers split into a "V". "Peace," she said.

Sam darted forward. He dragged her off the ground by the front of her dress then shoved her around so her back was pressed against him while he shoved his arm under her neck. He pushed back, cutting off her air just a little bit while she made a gasping noise and wrapped her hands around his forearm.

"Let's go," Sam said.

She let her legs go limp. The sudden gain of all of her weight caused him to stumble but Sam held on.

"You think I can't carry you wherever I want? Find me someone who can get my brother loose or I'll just break your neck and find a torch myself."

"It's not going to be that easy, Sam."

The woman murmured something that Sam couldn't hear and suddenly it felt like a knife had been slammed into his belly. Sam cried out, releasing his captive and crouching with his arms wrapped around his middle. A moment later the pain stopped just as quickly and Sam panted as he tried to recover.

"You're not in charge here," she said.

She spoke again, softly and deliberately. This time Sam's head exploded in agony. It felt like his eyes were melting as he squeezed his skull trying to keep his brain inside. Once more it stopped abruptly and he was left fighting the black spots dancing through his vision.

"Bitch," Sam said. He was kneeling in the cold grass.

"You have no idea," she said.

The silence between them stretched like an empty cavern. Still twitching with leftover adrenaline, his stomach and head still pulsing with pain, Sam managed to get on his feet. Hunched over slightly and fighting nausea, he glared at the witch who stood motionless and watching.

"My name is AJ Gleason," she said.

Sam waited for more.

"You murdered my father," she said.

"He had a heart attack."

"You murdered his remains."

"I don't think you know the whole story."

She chuckled but there was no humor in it. "I know everything. I could have had him for a hundred years, a thousand, but you…and your family ripped him away."

"We killed a monster," Sam said.

"My father had tastes that would'vebeen considered normal if he'd been born in another time or place. Society decides who the monsters are but that doesn't make them monsters."

"He was child molester, a rapist."

"You should have been honored by his attention. He never forgot you. He shaped his entire ideal on you."

Sam shook his head slowly. Her words made his stomach turn.

"You're as crazy as he was."

"You're going to be mine, Sam."

Mark Foster had beaten him nearly to death trying to get Sam to say 'yes'. But, Sam had never really known what he would have been agreeing to. He just refused repeatedly no matter how bad things got because agreeing to anything felt like a mistake. AJ seemed to be looking for the same 'yes'.

"I still don't know what the hell you people want," Sam said.

AJ laughed for a long moment. It sounded like the raving cackles that echo in a mental ward. Goosebumps rose on Sam's arms and neck while she wrapped her arms around herself apparently lost in the moment. When she finally stopped, her face red and blotchy from the outburst, she folded her legs and sat down on the grass again.

"My father wanted to possess you, Sam, you must have figured that out."

"He's dead. What do you want?"

"To fulfill his dying wish. I'll make you my slave and then I'll give you to Mark. He wanted to take you away before, didn't he?"

Sam glared at her as he considered his best course for getting Dean and himself out of there. He needed bolt cutters to cut the chains holding Dean to the wall. They could figure out how to get the manacles off later.

"Are you listening to me?" AJ demanded

"Uh, yeah," Sam said still thinking about escape.

A slice of pain like someone ripped his gut open burst through Sam's abdomen. He cried out, falling to his knees and holding his arms around himself. The sudden attack left him curled up on his side. He clenched his jaw forcing back any pleas to stop. And then again, just as fast as it came, the pain left. He gasped softly, feeling like a beached fish.

"You will pay attention to me," AJ said, looming over him in her seventies frock. Her eyes were wide and glowing with a red tint.

Sam nodded slowly. He turned on to his knees again, stiffly getting back up.

"I'm going to have your brother released. He'll be taken off the property and left someplace. I'm sure someone will find him."

"Wait, what?"

"I don't need him. My father never dangled family to get what he wanted. He just took it."

"Then why did you bring him here?"

She shook her head, frowning at Sam as if he failed some test. "I can't have him following you here, can I? He knows this house. He'd just come back."

"He'll come back anyway."

AJ smiled and pushed her hair behind her ears. "No. Because he won't remember. Not this house or my family or…you."

"What?" Sam took a step towards her. He bunched his fists as panic threatened to take over.

She giggled like a child as she held up one hand. "I'll tell you a secret," she said. "Dean has been unconscious all this time because I cast a very powerful spell over him. I am very, very good at making spells."

AJ twirled her hand and Sam collapsed. The darkness swallowed him so quickly, he barely registered it and then there was nothing.

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 **Thursday-Day Three**

Dean Winchester rolled from his stomach to his back and groaned softly as the first rays of morning crept through the motel window. He blindly reached out, wrapping his fingers around the closest pillow and flopped it over his face. The rough pillowcase caught on his morning stubble but he was just glad for the extra measure of darkness.

He lay there drifting between sleep and waking, enjoying the peace. But, in time his body demanded that he use the bathroom.

He barely opened his eyes. The hard floor, thinly cushioned by worn carpet creaked softly under his socks. The ceramic of the bathroom tile didn't feel much different although there was a chill there. He didn't bother with the light switch, just lifted the lid on the toilet. When he was done, he dropped the lid and went to the sink to wash his hands.

Dean blinked into the mirror, surprised to see bruising on one cheek and a red gash above his eye. He didn't remember getting into a fight. He hissed at a sudden burn and looked down to find soap on his wrist. Under the soap, an angry red spot flared at the irritation. Dean rinsed his arm off and took a closer look. Several small burns decorated both of his wrists. He looked them over carefully but couldn't remember how he got them. The wounds weren't serious. They wouldn't need any covering or treatment but they confused him. How could he burn himself and not remember?

Dean returned to the main room. Now that he was awake, he was ready to start his day. He dug some clean clothes out of his duffle and went back in the bathroom to the start the shower. He took off the necklace that he always wore and put it on the sink. He stopped to look at it for a moment noting that the small pendant was surprisingly ugly. But, he even as he set it down he knew he'd continue wearing it.

After washing, being cautious of the odd burns and finding a few more bruises, Dean dried off and got dressed.

Once he slid into the Impala he started to feel better. Just being behind the wheel, smelling the familiar scent of the old car gave him a sense of peace. He decided he needed breakfast. While he ate he could spend some time looking through the local papers to see if there was a job nearby. Failing that, he'd head to the next town and do the same. Sometimes it was easy to find a gig, sometimes it took some work.

Dean drove a couple of blocks before finding a small diner that likely served greasy potatoes and strong coffee. That was exactly what he wanted. For some reason, he was unusually hungry and thirsty.

He walked in to find a square layout with only about twenty mostly empty tables and a service bar. Dean settled onto a stool near the cash register. He looked around at the red and beige motif thinking the place needed a re-model to put it into modern times. He glanced backward when he heard the squeak of the glass door. Two guys walked in. They looked like farmers with their blue jeans, heavy boots and leathered skin. One of them was tall; maybe 6'2 or 6'3 and Dean stared at him. A weird sense of déjà vu washed over him and he couldn't stop watching the big guy.

"You okay, pal?" The shorter man had stopped in front of Dean.

Dean smiled innocently. "Sure, yeah, uh, your friend there, he reminds me of somebody."

"Bradley, you know this man?" Bradley's friend didn't take his eyes off Dean as he asked the question.

Bradley took a long look at Dean before shrugging. "No, sir. He doesn't look familiar."

"You have a nice breakfast," Bradley's friend said and the two men made their way to a table.

Dean thought they were a little sensitive but he didn't need to get in a fight with a couple rednecks in upstate New York. He turned back to the bar and found a skinny kid staring at him. The kid had an acne problem and was wearing a white apron around his waist.

"Can I start you off with some coffee?"

"Yeah, that'll be a good beginning. Can you get your cook to fry up three eggs for me? Over easy. Throw some bacon and hash browns on there too."

"We can do," the kid said as he poured coffee in a white cup and pushed it towards Dean.

After serving the drink and leaving Dean two glass containers, one with powdered creamer and the other with sugar, the kid disappeared behind a swinging door. He returned a couple of minutes later with two more coffees. He delivered them to Bradley and Bradley's friend. Dean shook his head when the same feeling of knowing the big guy returned. What was it about Bradley that seemed so familiar?

The kid returned to the service bar.

"You passing through?"

Dean looked at him with his half-combed blond hair and the start of some stubble that probably wasn't really growing yet.

" driving around right now."

"Ya know, I work at the Holiday Inn a couple nights a week. I saw your car there. It's a beauty."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, but, uh, I don't think you saw my baby. I wasn't at a Holiday Inn. At least not this decade."

"Really? It's hard to believe there're two of them floating around here."

Something flashed through Dean's memory. It felt like someone was flipping those little animated cards that show the rabbit running one frame at a time. Then a stabbing pain thrust into his brain like acid and Dean had to slap both hands against his skull just to keep it from splitting. It came and went fast. When Dean could, he looked up to find the kid had come around the counter and was standing in front of him.

"You all right? Need me to call someone?"

"No. No, I'm all right," Dean said.

He took a few breaths and within moments he was better. The pain barely left a memory behind. He felt normal, just still thirsty.

"Can I get some water and some orange juice?"

The kid nodded fast and left to retrieve the drinks. Dean exhaled, picked up his coffee and drank a long swallow. The burn on his throat registered but he was so thirsty that he didn't care.

When he felt steady enough, Dean reached for a copy of the morning paper that had been left in a stack near the register. He opened it and read through the pages in a leisurely way while he sipped coffee. The boy brought his breakfast which Dean ate while he continued perusing the small town news stories.

The food tasted great sating Dean's extreme hunger. He ate ravenously and around the same time he finished, he also found a potential hunt.

Going back about 18 months, hikers around the area had started reporting Big Foot sightings. Dean knew Big Foot was a hoax. Any hunter worth the title knew that, but the reports came from reputable sources. In the last month, two people had been killed and witnesses described an ape-man with giant hands and feet. So, clearly there was something out there. It wasn't Big Foot but it was something.

Dean decided to stay in town. He had found a job and an excellent place to eat breakfast so what more could he need?


	5. Chapter 5

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Thank you to those of you who are sending reviews and/or marking this as a favorite. Writers need to be fed.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 5

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When Sam woke from whatever spell AJ had cast, he didn't wake in the barn or the cellar. He wasn't cold though his head and body ached. He woke in a single bed with no pillow but a blanket covering him. He blinked his way into consciousness and took an inventory of his surroundings; a bare room with no windows and a single light shining above him. Wood paneled walls reached down to wood slatted floors and up to an excessively high, white painted ceiling. The light was covered by a gray dome that only allowed the slightest yellow glow to peer down at him.

The only furniture was the bed. A single door mocked him with its iron hinges and iron doorknob with no lock on the inside. There was nothing to pick and no window to break.

The room smelled stale as if it had been closed off for a long time. It looked clean but there was no lemon or pine or citrus scent to indicate that any cleaning fluids had been used.

Sam sat up, perching on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. He noted that he still wore his clothes and boots.

Everything was different from the last time when Mark Foster and the ghost of Richard Gleason held him captive. If Sam didn't know that it was Richard's daughter and Richard's house then he would not see any similarity to the two situations.

Sam wondered about Dean and wondered what AJ wanted. He couldn't imagine that she was still kidnapping young man. There was no reason for it unless she was the same pervert that her father was. That didn't seem likely.

Sam rubbed his face. When he pulled his hands away he spotted something he had missed before. Something lying on the floor near the end of the bed. It only stuck out a little bit but it was manila, a manila folder like every business in America used. Sam frowned at it. For some reason he didn't want to pick it up. But, it was laying there so Sam scooted off the bed, crouched for a moment and grabbed it.

He looked towards the only door, expecting AJ to burst in now that he'd taken the bait she left behind. That didn't happen though so he settled back on the bed and opened the folder. It felt smooth under his fingers. Even when his hands started to shake, the folder felt smooth and smelled like cardboard.

Photos lay within. The first one slammed into his memory. He recognized the barn. He remembered the slatted walls and the scraping of hay on the ground. As he looked closer, the chains stood out. He saw his wrists bound, dragged above his head and pulling on damaged skin. He remembered how sore his muscles became, how they throbbed with spasms. He knew his wrists had been painfully sensitive, the scraping of the metal against bone deep bruises and torn flesh barely registered compared to the rest but he remembered.

He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them slowly. He looked at it clinically, taking in the details, recording them as if he were cataloging a hunt. He kept his eyes on the body that hung from the chains, stretched out in boxers and a t-shirt, bare feet barely scraping the ground. Bruises stood out on abused legs, purple and blue and mottled even in the dark lighting of the barn and the photo. Or maybe he just knew they were there.

Sam didn't look further. He refused to acknowledge it. With trembling fingers, he moved to the next thing in the folder.

Another photo, glossy and clear, shocked him with the suffering that stared back. A close up view of his face revealed glassy, red-streaked eyes. He barely recognized himself in the face that was scrunched up around those eyes.

Sam's heart pounded inside his chest. Seeing himself in the midst of torture, in the midst of agony felt like a knife sliding through his skin. He knew what had happened. He hadn't squashed it away like a shameful secret. But, he had refused to dwell on it.

He dealt with the memories the way he dealt with monsters. If he let the fear take him, then he'd be a gibbering wreck so he compartmentalized and refused to let it affect him too deeply. He rationalized.

"Put it down," Dean's voice told him so clearly that Sam looked up to see if he was there.

Sam flipped to the next photo. With a jolt he dropped the folder and backed away from it. He couldn't breathe for a moment, his throat closed up and his lungs refused to act. He turned his back on the mess, unable to escape it but not able to face it either.

As he'd feared, the only door creaked open. He spun back around to find AJ, Mark Foster and George Bentley walking in.

"Fuck you," Sam said, looking at AJ.

"Actually, I think it was 'fuck you', wasn't it?"

Foster actually chuckled at that and Sam darted after him in mindless fury. He wrapped his hand around the bald, body builder's neck and thrust him into the closest wall. The other man struggled, kicking and thrashing. His strength served him but Sam's anger trumped it. Despite getting a couple of licks in and temporarily loosening the grip on his throat, his fighting was useless.

It took a witch induced jab into Sam's gut to break the grip. The pain was sharp, fast and sudden and Sam went down on one knee while he cradled his belly. Foster curled over, gasping for breath before he took advantage of Sam's incapacity to deliver a hard kick to his side. Sam fell over, the pain overwhelming him.

He felt more than saw AJ crouch beside him. She scrubbed fingers through his hair.

"I know that seeing yourself like that was difficult. You were so young and vulnerable then. For my father to take photos of you, of the both of you together in such a compromising pose, I'm sure it's hard to look at. It was a wonderful, defining moment for him but not for you."

The pain she inflicted so easily dissipated in a slow wave. Sam rolled on to his back and looked up at her. She stood directly above him, wearing another hippie dress. It was pink and long and flowered with lace at the hem.

"I will kill you," Sam said.

"We need to talk," AJ said. She looked up at Foster and Bentley. Both men understood and left the room.

"Mark wants you, you know? He wants you back in the barn, back under his control."

"He's a coward," Sam said as made his way back to his feet.

"Really?"

"He's only brave when his victim is helpless."

"Are you his victim?"

"I'm no one's victim," Sam said.

Her voice took on a sing song quality. "Once upon a time, you were."

"No," Sam said.

"That little boy in the photo had no control over his circumstances. He was defenseless."

"And you're defending the man who did that."

"My father was a man who should have lived in a different time. It's not his fault that he was born now with all the social taboos. There was a time when taking a young boy and mentoring him was an honor for the boy and his family."

Sam barked out a dark laugh and shook his head. She really was as crazy as the rest of her family. He needed to find the hex bag that she was using to control him.

"You remember the boy in the rain? The one that you picked up?" Her words came out slow and deliberate as if she needed to lead him through it.

"I remember."

"His name is Griff Donahue. He's one of ours. I put him out there so you'd find him."

Sam just stared at her. He had already guessed that the kid was a plant. It's the only reason that he and Dean would have accepted the presence of the fake police so easily.

"It takes time to convince a human being to be something that he doesn't want to be. Griff has been with us for about two months. Of course, we had him settled in within the first week but, he's a boy, not a man and he was raised in a suburb, not in a monster war zone the way you were. But, even after he said 'yes', it still took some reinforcement to keep him with us."

"You tortured that child?"

"Not me. I was away at school but, yes, he was, for a while."

Anger flashed through him.

"He's a child," Sam said.

"Would it be better if we were working with adults?"

"You're a sick bitch, you know that," Sam said.

"If it makes it easier for you to think so," AJ said.

"Is it sex slaves? What? I…" Sam shrugged.

AJ laughed. "Well, not for me," she said.

"Then what? Or who? Your father is dead. The whole miserable Gleason line is dead. What are you doing?"

"I don't need a 'yes' if that's what you're asking. That was my father's rule and my grandfather before him. I don't want it or need it. But, I will have you obeying me."

"No." He shook his head. "No, you won't."

"Mark thinks he can beat you into it. He says he was close the last time. He says you're broken now and it wouldn't take much more."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know yet. I guess I could let him try."

The flare of panic jolted through Sam. He fought back any visible reaction, refusing to let her see his fear. He was afraid that Mark Foster was right. He was afraid that if he went back to the barn then he'd give in to anything.

"Good-bye, Sam," AJ said.

Sam rushed her, adrenaline spiking along his nerves. He took her into a fast headlock, intending to break her neck. But, she moved just as fast and he collapsed in a screaming rage of pain that snuffed out his consciousness like a light switch.

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Sam woke up but he couldn't gauge time. It felt like the same day but with no windows and no outside light, he couldn't be sure. It might have been a minute, an hour or a full day. His head ached in a vague way that left him feeling muzzy but not really in pain. He picked himself off the floor wondering how many times he was going to have to do that.

His body trembled with the effects of AJ's spells so he took a moment to sit on the bed and re-examine his options. He needed to find a way to avoid getting zapped so often or he wasn't going to be able to function. But, the way this thing seemed to moving, he didn't think he had much time left before they incapacitated him anyway. Tortured him. He pushed that aside. If he started worrying about that then he wouldn't be able to manage anything else.

The folder holding the photos sat on the bed too. He didn't pick it up. He didn't need to put himself through another walk down the nightmare-memory lane. He lay back instead and tried to recover from the repetitive attacks on his nervous system. There wasn't much else to do.

His stomach rumbled annoyingly. He couldn't remember the last time he ate or drank anything. He knew Mark Foster liked to keep him starved and dehydrated. But, again, he couldn't think about that. He wasn't anywhere near a critical point in that regard, and he was planning to escape.

Planning to escape wasn't the same as having an escape plan.

Sam sat up, took a breath and stood. He walked to the only exit and started examining the door. He didn't get very far before he heard the creak of the hinge. Sam jumped to the side and readied himself for a fight.

The door pushed open. Sam took the one second needed to determine that AJ with her hex bag and spells wasn't there. He grabbed the nearest person to him. A face he didn't recognize but still a threat, Sam caught his arm, dragged him forward a step then shoved him back fast. The man plowed into George Bentley knocking them both off balance but Sam didn't let go. Using the nameless guard as a weapon, Sam reeled him in a second time then swung him back out. Bentley took another hit and went down hard in the hall. The guard was finally reacting and Sam felt him tense up, trying to stop momentum. As soon as he started to pull back, Sam let him go. It was like releasing a rubber band and the man careened into the opposite wall.

Sam ran out of the room and into some part of the main house. To his right, it was three feet and then a wall, to his left, a hallway. Darting to the left and leaping over Bentley, Sam's feet bounded against glistening hard wood floors. Smooth, white walls lined up on either side, not encumbered by doors or decoration. He barely noticed as he ran for freedom.

The hall ended in a T shape. Sam skidded into the wall. He could hear Bentley and the other man screaming at each other and probably into a phone or radio. Sam felt time running out on his escape. He chose the left hall because he had to choose a direction. The sound of chasing steps dogged him as he reached a staircase that wound down and was mildly surprised to discover he was on an upstairs floor. He made it about halfway before Mark Foster and another man appeared at the bottom. The other man ran towards him while Sam waited. He knew he had a better than even chance of winning in a close battle. Foster ordered the man to stop just before he reached Sam.

"Winchester, stop," George Bentley said from behind and at the top of the stairs.

Screw that, Sam thought and beat a path downward. He jammed both hands into the chest of Foster's companion and sent him tumbling the rest of the way down. Foster dodged out of the way and didn't get bowled over. Sam kept going, aiming for Foster, planning to take him down fast and then keep running. He could hear others coming down the steps. Bentley and his cohort or just one of them was chasing and it sounded like they were catching up.

Sam yelled when something hard tangled in his legs. It felt like a police baton or a bat but whatever, it slammed into his calves, tripping him. He tried to recover but his foot missed the next step and he twisted, landing with a bang against the steps. Still trying to get control his limbs flailed as he skidded downward.

He finally came to rest at the bottom, his shoulders, arms and head on the floor, his legs twisted on the stairs. Lying near his head, he spotted a short, wooden bat, like the kind a pre-school kid might use. He gasped at the pain as he started to push his body around to get himself righted and standing.

A boot collided with his side and Sam cried out at the new pain, once, twice, three times before it stopped. Panting around the blows, he recoiled internally when Mark Foster crouched beside him.

"That wasn't very smart," Foster said to Sam then looked up the steps. "Get him back to the room."

Sam threw a fast punch and was glad to feel Mark Foster's his skin bunch up under the blow and his head snap to the side. Adrenaline and determination drove him towards getting up but he was slow after the fall and still tangled up on his back. The two nameless men and Bentley pounded on his torso until Sam fell back to his knees. Strong hands lifted him by his arms and started dragging him up the steps.

"Jeez, he's heavy," one of the men said.

"Kid's all muscle," Bentley said. "Watch him. He doesn't go down easy."

"I'm going to kill him," Foster said. Sam thought he sounded like he meant it.

"No, you're not. You should know better than to get that close," Bentley said.

At the top of the staircase, Sam jerked backward, hoping to throw his captors back down the steps. They barely flinched but they wrenched his shoulders back in a vicious payback. Sam gritted his teeth. Fleetingly he thought they dislocated something but the pain disappeared too quickly.

They marched him back down the hallway and into the room he had just escaped from. The two men shoved him stumbled but didn't fall. He turned around to find Foster's bald head gleamingin the overhead lamp from the hall while his one earring glinted. He was fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth and grazing his fingers over the red spot on his contrast, Bentley pulled his suit jacket straight. He took his wire rim glasses off but there was nothing nervous about his movements. He seemed placid and in control.

None of them spoke and it reminded Sam of the days he spent hearing only Mark Foster's voice or the ghost of Richard Gleason. He took a long, slow breath to quell the fear rising up in him. The nameless guards left him behind and closed the door, cutting him off from everything beyond it.

Sam planted himself on the bed because there was nothing else to do. He rubbed his shoulder absently but that didn't help the bruising. He rubbed the back of his leg next. He stared at the wall and then at the door and finally flopped over on to the bed. He scooted his long body to the top and spent some time looking at the ceiling.

Dean's face flashed in his mind. Sam refused to believe that AJ had wiped Dean's memory of him. The two of them were so much a part of each other, how could she make Dean forget his brother? It wasn't possible.

Sam felt himself drifting. His mind started wandering as exhaustion pushed up through the rest of his churning thoughts. He couldn't afford to let that happen. Struggling to focus he spun around and sat on the edge of the bed.

He stood up to stretch his legs but after getting knocked down the stairs and kicked, moving didn't feel good. He did it anyway, knowing that keeping his muscles limber would help with speed later.

He needed a way out of the room he was in. They wouldn't be careless coming through the door again so he'd have to convince them to let him out. He ticked off ideas in his mind. He could pretend to be sick or injured. He could talk AJ into thinking that he was considering her offer. He could annoy them to the point that AJ would have him sent to the barn. Sam stopped at that last one and rejected it. He wasn't going back there for any reason, contrived or otherwise.

A knock on the door caught his attention. He stared at it curiously wondering who and why. The door creaked open to reveal AJ and Foster. She entered first, carrying her confidence like a shield. She kept her eyes on Sam. Foster followed her but he just looked cocky while he held a Taurus 9mm. He watched Sam too.

"You tried to escape," AJ said.

"You told her?" Sam spoke to Mark in a taunting voice. "Tattletale."

"Shut up," Mark said.

"I expected this but I was hoping it wouldn't happen," AJ said."You know that I can strike you down whenever I want so I thought you'd at least respect that. Maybe consider my offer."

"How are you making me an offer?"

"Good night, Sam," she said.

And just like that a burst of pain imploded inside his head. It hit so fast and so strong there was no time for defense. Sam's world turned black.


	6. Chapter 6

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

This chapter is a bit longer than the others.

Part 6

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Dean finished the day's research by straining his eyes on an old microfiche machine at the library. He read eight separate accounts of Big Foot sightings. There were a total of twenty or so people involved during the individual events including a pair of tourists from England, an off-duty police officer, and a retired Air Force Colonel. The people who died were a couple of men taking a day hike. A State Trooper had been in the area and witnessed their attack.

Dean made a few phone calls and finally convinced someone to take his name and number to pass on to Trooper Dale Felton. Since the trooper was local, Dean hoped for an interview with him.

He guessed that he was probably dealing with a Wendigo but having one this far east was unusual. Normally, Wendigos were found in Minnesota or Michigan but monsters popped up where they wanted to pop up so Dean didn't dismiss his theory. A Skinwalker might also explain the sightings. Skinwalkers are capable of changing form so it could be mimicking Big Foot. A werewolf could also be to blame. They didn't resemble Big Foot but people would need to put a monster into a familiar context and Big Foot has mass appeal so one person calls it Sasquatch then everyone assumes its Sasquatch.

Dean stopped outside the Impala and turned around. He felt like something was following him. He felt like something or someone should be following him. Sasquatch. He tapped his hand on the roof of the car and shook his head. In a life of strange, that thought was one of the oddest he'd ever had.

He opened the car door and slid behind the wheel with a sigh. His stomach rumbled and he remembered seeing a "pizza by the slice" place near the motel. He figured a couple of pepperoni and sausage with some hot wings and a six pack would set him right for the evening. With luck Trooper Felton would call and he could talk him through the attack to see what kind of distinguishing characteristics stuck out.

Once Dean figured out what he was hunting, he could make a plan to kill it. Although, he had to admit that any of his suspects so far should have a higher body count. Wendigos, skinwalkers and werewolves rarely left victims alive. So, whatever was in the woods either hesitated to kill or wasincompetent.

Dean saw the pizza place and pulled into a space near the front. The dinner rush was over so he didn't have to wait to put in his order. A few minutes later he took his food and headed to the nearest convenience store where he picked up a six pack of beer. Fully loaded for a night in, Dean drove to his motel room looking forward to hot food and, hopefully, a decent movie or two.

After he let himself in, he decided to call Bobby before settling down. He liked to check with the older man just to run ideas by him and to keep in contact with someone. It seemed better to have another person know where he was and what he was working on.

Bobby answered on the second ring, "Dean," he said sounding more excited than necessary.

"Hey, Bobby, how are you doing? Listen I'm in upstate New York checking out Big Foot sightings. I'm going to do some interviews to see if I can get a bead on what it is."

"You're what? Dean, what about…"

"I don't want to keep you but I wanted to give you a head's up."

"Wait, Dean, you're hunting Big Foot? What about…"

"Well, not really Big Foot, of course. But, you know…civilians...so, I'm just going to…"

"Dean, what about Sam?"

A crack of pain shot through Dean's brain like a lightning flash and Dean pressed against his forehead as he answered. "Hey, keeping track of hunters is your job. I haven't seen Sam in weeks. If I hear anything I'll call you."

"Weeks? What?" Bobby said.

"I got to go. Thanks and I'll call you later."

Dean clicked off the call and turned his phone off. He wondered vaguely why he needed to shut it down but the thought only remained a moment. The smell of food drew him instead and he retrieved some paper towels and sat on the edge of the bed with his dinner next to him.

He didn't know why Bobby would be asking him about Sam Cooper. The two had worked together once a few months earlier and the other hunter was competent enough but Dean hadn't seen him since.

Dean dismissed the whole conversation from his mind as he clicked on the television and landed on an old Chuck Norris movie. He munched pizza and drank three beers fast before the first half was over. The dialogue was crap but the action scenes were enough to keep Dean interested. When the final credits rolled, Chuck had won the heart of a blonde, killed and maimed a bunch of bad guys, and received the admiration of the local populace.

Dean started flipping channels before the credits finished rolling.

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 **Friday-Day Four**

Sam wokewith a start. He jerked up, just escaping a dream where he was falling out of a plane. He swore softly. He started to sit up and found he couldn't. With a rush of panic he found his arms and legs bound to the four corners of the narrow bed. He yanked anxiously on the leather cuffs circling his wrists but they were attached to the headboard with chains that jangled when he moved. He could feel the rough leather of cuffs around his ankles too.

Taking a quick physical inventory he found he still wore the gray t-shirt and jeans he had arrived in. His boots were gonebut his white socks remained. He sighed and tugged experimentally on his wrists and ankles hoping to feel a weakness but the headboard and footboard were solid as were the actual bindings. He'd need something other than brute force in order to escape.

Sam spent several minutes twisting and turning to get a better look at his situation. As his energy flagged he lay back down and closed his eyes. He really wished Dean would show up. The last time the Gleason's captured him, things had gotten decidedly dismal before his brother found him. At least this time, Dean knew where he was. All Dean needed to do was storm the gate and mount a rescue.

Unless AJ had succeeded in wiping his memory which, Sam had to admit, was becoming a likely possibility. What else would keep Dean away?

If Dean wasn't coming then Sam would need to save himself. He just didn't know how.

Opening his eyes, Sam blinked at the dull light shining from the ceiling but he noticed that something was blocking his view of the domed fixture. He squinted as he grew used to the light and found a black board suspended several feet above his head. And once he found it he couldn't stop seeing it, because the black board was covered with the photos from the folder.

Multiple photos, both in color and not, depicting Sam in pain. As a child and as an adult his face appeared frozen in anguish and fear. His body showed the abuse, his eyes showed anger in some, despair in others. Each one illuminated suffering in unflinching detail.

Sam held his breath as he took in each photo. He trembled as the stark images assaulted him all over again. The ones that were two months old were horrific. He looked haunted and hopeless, chained and terrified of whatever was coming next. His illusions of courage crumbled with every picture. He hadn't been brave, he'd been destroyed.

The others that showed a naked child, abused and alone, didn't look like him. He could divorce himself from those because he didn't remember ever being that kid. After Dad rescued him, Sam shoved those memories into a closet far back in his mind. He refused to talk about it, never told anyone the truth of when Charles Gleason's ghost disappeared and the human, Richard Gleason, took his place. That skinny, terrified boy in the photos wasn't him, couldn't be him because he pushed all of that so far down that it was like it never happened.

But, the others, the photos from the barn, those stabbed into his mind with the force of a battering ram. He couldn't deny those, couldn't escape the terror they woke in him. Sam closed his eyes to escape the images burned into the darkness and brought the fear closer. He forced himself to breathe. He needed to let out some of the tension cording through his limbs. He knew that she put them there to break him down. He knew it and he couldn't let it happen.

Every moment that he let those horrific pictures affect him gave her that much more power over him. He knew it and he had to stop.

But, he couldn't stop looking at them, couldn't stop remembering the agony, couldn't stop remembering the anxiety while he waited helplessly for the next abuse to start. He saw it on his face in the photos and he felt it as he lay there, tied to a bed, completely vulnerable to whatever they wanted to do to him.

"Hold it together, Sam," Dean said. His voice running through Sam's mind as clear as if he were really there.

Sam cursed again. When he finally escaped he was going to kill AJ. He should have killed Mark Foster months earlier so he'd make sure to get that right too. He didn't care if they were human. She was a witch and he was a monster and they were both going to die. He figured he'd take George Bentley too. Why not? He'd destroy the Axis of Evil before they could hurt anyone else. Then he'd burn their bones and burn the house. And the barn, he would definitely torch the barn.

Sam's gaze drifted up again. Those damn photos stared back at him. He turned his head to the side, seeing the door a few feet away. The room was small, smaller than he realized. No furniture, no windows, nothing to break the monotony of the square, bland space except the photos stationed above him.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to sleep, hated the vulnerability and loathed not knowing when someone would come back in the room. He tried to imagine ways to escape. Once he was free of the restraints, he figured he could make another run for freedom. This time he'd break the neck of anyone who approached him. He'd hit them with everything he knew about killing monsters and they wouldn't be able to stop him. He could picture his hands on Mark Foster, could imagine the sensation of his neck snapping. He remembered the feel of the floor beneath him from his last attempt and he could see the stairway in front of him and the door beyond that. If he broke free from the bonds holding him, he'd escape with a fury that they could never anticipate.

When he opened his eyes he found the photos still there. He didn't recognize the fear on the face in each one. He knew he had been scared during the whole ordeal. Pain had overwhelmed him. Physically devastated, weak from hunger, dying of thirst and the constant threat of worst had left him terrified. But, to see it etched in the photos, looking like a trapped mouse with no fight left, no hope left was terrible. He remembered all of it but he had thought that his faith in Dean and the determination instilled by his father had provided some strength. He had thought he was fighting back but the photos showed nothing but a stricken victim, drawn and weak and hopeless.

He forced himself to look at the ones from ten years earlier and jolted at the same fear that appeared there. Apparently, whether young child or adult, Sam was still the same petrified person.

Sam jerked his attention to the door when he heard the click of it opening. He pulled on the leather cuffs on his arms and legs as Mark Foster entered. The bald man smirked as he stood beside the bed. He folded his arms and leaned casually to one side.

"Have you been enjoying your pictures?"

"You sure you don't need AJ or Bentley in here to protect you?"

"From you? An oversized boy?"

Sam watched Foster move from the side of the bed to the end. He tugged his arms again, wishing he wasn't restrained with the other man so close. Fear thrummed through him making it difficult to remain still.

"Have you been wondering who took the pictures? I mean, you don't remember anyone standing around with a camera, do you?"

Sam stayed quiet.

"Bentley took a few while you were in the barn. We always take some of the boys so we can show them. Give them a little reminder of what disobedience means."

I can't wait to kill them, Sam thought.

"But, the others? Richard took those."

Sam shuddered. He shifted to get a better look at Foster.

"He knew what his uncle wanted, what they both needed if they were going relive the time they spent with each boy."

A shiver passed all the way through Sam's body as he processed the new information.

"So what?" Sam said."Charlie and Dick were perverts. You think that's news?"

The words sounded strong but Sam didn't feel them. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to beat back the rush of nausea. He could imagine the Gleason's with their sick obsession and it made him ill. He didn't want to know that the photos existed or what they had been used for. He wanted to rip them apart, erase their existence.

"You're looking a little pale," Foster said.

"What do you want?" Sam said, tired of his presence.

Foster barked out a humorless laugh. "Just to remind you that I'm here. And you're still mine."

Sam held his breath. It was all he had left to keep from funneling his frustration into the open.

Foster patted his sock covered foot and left the room.

Another rush of cold filled him from the inside. His limbs trembled with it. He deliberately kept his head turned. He couldn't look at the dreaded images anymore. The sight of them was making him crazy.

Sam had been in plenty of bad situations where he was at a disadvantage. Fear happened. Frustration and worry happened. But, the dread he felt was deep and new and he couldn't believe it was because of Foster. It had to be the memories and the physical reminder of the photographs.

Sam concentrated on breathing. Long, deep inhalations of air then slow exhales to calm down. It was a simple relaxation exercise he used at Stanford. Jessica had taught him.

His father never spent much time on explaining how to deal with the fear of hunting. Hard exercise after a difficult hunt to tire them out and loosen up their muscles was the closest they ever came to decompressing and that was always after the terror, not before.

Not that Sam was terrified. Why would he be? Living with the unknown and dealing with monsters, actual or human filled his everyday life. Pain followed he and Dean around like a vicious puppy constantly nipping at their ankles. What could Mark Foster or AJ or any of them inflict that Sam hadn't already dealt with at some point? He didn't need to spend energy being afraid. He needed to figure out how to get released from the restraints and escape.

But, the deep breathing and the pep talk didn't seem to be helping. The knot in his stomach only tightened along with the vise around his lungs.

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Dean's cell rang just as he slid behind the wheel of the Impala with a microwave burrito in one hand and a convenience store coffee in the other. He managed to get both settled on the dash and answer before it stopped playing "Smoke on the Water".

"Mr. Wolfe? This is Trooper Felton. My commander asked me to call you."

Dean told the trooper that he was a reporter and wanted some details on the potential Big Foot sighting. Felton was reluctant at first but with a little encouragement, he told Dean the story.

He started with his interview of a couple of victims. The college-aged tourists had decided to take a nature walk and they were attacked. The boyfriend managed to use a hiking stick to fend off the monster. Both the girl and the boy insisted it was Big Foot but the investigators wrote it off as a bear attack.

The next day Felton decided to take a look around on his own.

"I just figured I'd take a walk; see if there was any evidence of the attack from the day before," the Trooper said."I used to hunt deer there when I was a teenager so I know the area. So, I took my day off and walked the trail they said they walked and tried to find something to show an attack. There were some broken branches and messed up ground but nothing to prove Big Foot."

"But, something happened," Dean coaxed.

"Yeah. I was just about to head back to the car when I heard kind of a weird growl. It wasn't like a coyote or wolf. Wasn't a big cat either. I had a close encounter with a cougar when I was a kid so I know what they sound like."

"Bear?"

"Kind of. Maybe that's the closest but usually bears aren't that loud. They can be, but mostly they grunt and moan just to make their presence known. They don't roar that much, not like you'd think."

"Then what happened?"

"So I turned around," Felton said. "And I swear there was a man behind me. Like a giant. I took a step back and now it didn't look like a man, it looked like a man-gorilla or something. It was huge. I remember reaching for my gun but it hit me so hard I just flew a couple feet. My gun went flying too but not in the same direction. That's when Fred Compton and Jim Thomas showed up. The thing turned on them so fast it was like watching a snake strike. It swiped Fred first. I think he was dead before he knew anything because it opened him up from chest to hip. I got to my feet as fast as I could but it already had Jim Thomas and was shaking him. When it dropped Mr. Thomas, his head was practically turned around and I knew his neck was broken. When I looked at the, whatever it was, it just stood there for a few seconds. It didn't growl or anything, and then I heard the trees and brush moving and it was gone."

"Did it try to follow you?"

"No, sir. I never saw it or heard it again. I just made my way back to the car and called for help," Felton said.

"Did anyone investigate after that?"

"Oh, yeah. There were all kinds of investigators searching the area. They brought in a zoologist from the Bronx too. But, they couldn't find anything except the bodies."

"So the bodies were left. It didn't take them with it?"

"No, sir, it just left."

"What do you think attacked you and killed those men?"

"Mr. Wolfe, I think Big Foot is real. And I think he's living in the woods around Cayuga. Sheriff Carlisle, the main man in Cayuga, thinks I'm crazy. He authorized the investigation and did all the things he's supposed to do but he still thinks it's all for nothing. He told me it was hysteria. One person cries Big Foot and suddenly everyone is seeing him but, Mr. Wolfe, he's wrong. I know what I saw."

Dean thanked the trooper for his time and got directions to the attack site. After clicking off the call, he reviewed Felton's story and the few notes that he'd taken. There was definitely something out there but he wasn't set on it being a Wendigo anymore. Wendigos are vicious and hungry. Leaving a meal behind didn't fit with their standard behavior. It didn't sound like a skinwalker either and both attacks occurred during the day which canceled the werewolf theory.

Dean climbed out of the car and tossed his cold burrito into the trash in front of the store.

Returning to the convenience store Dean picked up four bottles of water. He looked at them and put two back. What did he need with four bottles? He visited the pastry section and grabbed a couple apple pies. He checked out, slid back into the Impala and remembered he had left his phone on the seat. He took a look for missed calls and saw two from Bobby Singer.

Dean tapped a couple of buttons and two rings later, Bobby answered.

"Okay, I don't think it's a Wendigo or werewolf. Still haven't ruled out a skinwalker but I'm not convinced," Dean said.

"Shut up," Bobby said."Where is Sam?"

"Jesus, Bobby, why would I know?"

"Dean, listen to my voice. Your brother, Sam, where is he?"

The sharp pain that skewered Dean the day before didn't compare to the agony that stabbed him this time. He cried out, dropping the phone and gripping both sides of his skull with two hands. Dark edges started creeping in. He threw his head back and fought to stay conscious until the pain started to pass.

A disembodied voice floated from the car floor. Dean felt settled enough to grab it. He punched the off button and leaned back again.

He took some long, deep breaths until his stomach stopped churning.

"Okay, that was weird," he said.

He couldn't remember why Bobby phoned. But, since it didn't relate to Big Foot sightings, Dean didn't have time to make a return call. He left his phone off and started the car. He still needed to check out the woods.

Vaguely he wondered at the migraine strength headache that attacked him but since the pain backed down, it didn't seem to matter anymore. He felt so good to be pain free that he was content with that.

Dean followed the directions he gained from Feltonand pulled into a parking lot near a walking path. He locked up the car and grabbed a bag out of the trunk to hold the bottled water, two handguns, salt rounds, silver rounds, iron rounds and plain bullets. Then threw a couple of knives in for good measure and shouldered the bag.

The day was warm without a hint of bite in the air so Dean put the bag down and took off his leather jacket. The long sleeved pullover seemed sufficient. He tossed his jacket in the trunk and re-shouldered the bag. With his cell and another gun tucked into pockets, Dean figured he was as prepared as possible.

He started along the trail looking and listening for anything odd but all he heard was birds twittering and the occasional mouse or squirrel or chipmunk moving along the underbrush or the tree branches. A slight breeze and the shade of the overgrown timber made his walk comfortable. He watched for fallen twigs and twisted knots of tree roots and anything else that might trip him. But, mostly he breathed the air and tried to remember that there was potential danger in all the calm around him.

As he neared the place where the men were killed, Dean grew more cautious. Now he listened for any change in the natural sounds. If the birds stopped chattering or flew in a sudden panic, or the critters moving from tree to bush went silent, he'd know something was happening.

He searched with his eyes and kept his senses alert but nothing changed; nothing indicated that the wild life felt endangered. He didn't hear any odd footsteps or growls. He didn't see any hairy beast-men lurking behind trees. He kept moving forward wondering if he should leave the walking path. He could do it and find his way back. He prided himself on his sense of direction and ability to track distance. But, the attacks occurred on this path, not off.

Dean stopped, fished his bottle of water out of the bag and sucked it down in one go. As he did, he turned in a slow circle looking for anything out of the ordinary. But, there was nothing.

Until there was.

A bone thin, red headed man who rivaled Michael Jordan in height suddenly stood beside him wearing a scowl. His uniform instantly gave him identity. This was the sheriff of Cayuga.

"Dean Winchester? What are you doing here?"

Dean had forgotten that he met the sheriff before but as soon as the man started talking, Dean remembered being incarcerated.

"Uh, looking for Big Foot," Dean said.

The sheriff blinked. "You told me there's no such thing."

"There isn't. But, something is working these woods so…"

"Mr. Winchester, there is nothing in these woods except for mice, coyotes, skunks and bobcats."

"And ? That's your working theory?"

"And , black bears that can be cranky."

Dean smiled. He sort of liked the sheriff. He decided to be honest. "I don't think you have a bear problem or a skunk problem. I think you have a monster problem and that's why I'm here."

"Well, I've been working here all my life and I've spent plenty of time in these woods. I've never seen Big Foot or Yeti or Sasquatch or whatever. What I have seen are scared people who fill in the blanks when nothing else makes sense."

"If I don't find anything then I'll leave. I'm not here to cause trouble. But, you have several credible witnesses describing the same creature and you've had two deaths."

The sheriff rubbed a hand over his red head and rubbed the back of his neck. He walked a few steps away from Dean and made a low noise in his throat. Dean thought it sounded like a growl and his body tensed.

"There's another thing, the trooper, the last victim, he said he saw a man before he saw the monster."

The sheriff was still turned away from him but Dean noticed the birds and the rodents had stopped making noise. The forest had slipped into utter silence. The Sheriff turned around. His face and body had morphed in a moment from an exceedingly tall red-haired man to an exceedingly tall, hair covered beast. Tufts of thick brown fur sprouted from inside his uniform. His face twisted and elongated, his limbs stretched long and narrow, his eyes turned gray and flat.

"Crap," Dean said as he pulled the gun from his pocket. Before he could bring it up, the thing that used to be the sheriff knocked it out of his hand. Then he backhanded Dean sending him rolling off the path and landing with a grunt at the base of a tree.

Dean scrambled to his feet, barely feeling the new bruises as he untwisted the bag hanging on his shoulder. The sheriff growled loudly, sounding like an angry beast though it was nothing like anything Dean had heard before. The sheriff rushed him with his limbs flailing like willow branches caught in a storm. But, the uncoordinated flapping moved fast and he was on Dean before Dean could produce any new weapons. With a whack to the side of his head, Dean took flight for several feet before he tumbled into a bush and stopped.

Dean pushed himself up, adrenaline hiding any injuries while he ran away from the monster sheriff. He needed some distance and time in order to get a gun out. He managed to get 50 feet away while the sheriff cocked his head and stared after Dean with those creepy, gray eyes. Then it turned away from him and in just a moment, it changed back to the red-headed bean pole of a man.

Dean dropped his bag on the ground and reached in, feeling for a gun and the silver rounds. As he pulled it out, he said, "So, you are a skinwalker, huh?"

"Not been killing or changing. Going on twenty years until now," the Sheriff said. "My father was a skinwalker, could change all the way to dog and back. My mother was human. I never could do all the stuff my father did and I never felt the need to hurt anything."

"What changed?"

"I don't know. All of a sudden, I can't seem to stop myself. I need to hunt."

"And kill," Dean said while he pumped bullets into the gun.

The sheriff nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Dean leveled the gun and cocked it.

"Can't let you kill me. Can't risk anyone else."

"You better do it then. I can feel the need growing."

Dean popped off three quick shots hitting the sheriff in the forehead first then two to the heart. The older man stood staring at him with a look of surprise before he fell over. Dean exhaled then took some slow breaths to calm the adrenaline pumping through him. He walked slowly to where the sheriff lay. The aches from getting thrown around started bothering him as he knelt to search for a pulse. He knew there wouldn't be one. Silver killed skinwalkers.

Dean needed to burn the body but he needed a minute too. He looked down at the dead man noting his pinned identification marked him as Sheriff D. Carlisle. He liked him. He didn't know why, couldn't remember much about their last meeting but Dean knew he wasn't a bad person. As a human, he'd been decent. At least that was Dean's impression. He wondered what changed in Carlisle to make him start morphing and start attacking.


	7. Chapter 7

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 7

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Several hours later, night hung heavy around Dean as he drove back to the motel. He had dragged Carlisle's body deeper into the trees, walked back to the Impala to retrieve a shovel then walked back into the woods, dug a hole, dropped the body inside then set it on fire. Burning a recently deceased body took time and a strong stomach because burning meat smells like burning meat, human or otherwise. After Carlisle was as cremated as he was going to get, Dean covered him up in the makeshift grave.

Luckily, Carlisle's recent adventures had scared away hikers and campers. It would have been difficult to explain why Dean was digging a rectangular hole or burning a corpse. And since Carlisle had been law enforcement, Dean didn't need anyone remembering that they had seen him in the area.

He figured he'd been lucky as he pulled into a parking space. As he stepped out of the car, he noticed a beat-up looking pick up with a fitted camper sitting nearby. He recognized it and started to walk over when Bobby's voice stopped him.

"I've been waiting for you," the older man said.

Dean turned around with a confused grin. Bobby stood there looking serious with his flannel and ball cap.

"Hey, Bobby, what are you doing here?"

"I figured we should have a talk. You got a room here?"

"Sure, yeah. Come on in. I was just about to wash off and go grab some dinner."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Bobby said.

Dean felt the older man watching him. He could see questions floating behind the bland expression. There was concern there too or maybe it was apprehension. It almost seemed like Bobby was waiting for him to snap.

Dean led the way into the small motel room.

"Have a seat," he said. "Let me take a quick shower and we can head out."

"You smell like smoke," Bobby said.

"I figured out the whole Big Foot thing. It was a skinwalker but the guy was a hybrid. Mom was human."

"I never seen that before," Bobby said.

"No. Me either. And you know what, I knew the guy."

"Who? The skinwalker?"

"Yeah, turns out it was the sheriff. Carlisle."

"Carlisle? The sheriff here? In Cayuga?"

"One and the same. He said he'd never hunted or attacked anyone before. But, then he started getting this need to hunt and that's when all the sightings started. He was about to break his 'no kill' rule again, mainly tearing me apart, so had to put him down. Truth is I think he kind of wanted me to."

"And of course you burned the body."

"Of course. I'm not an amateur."

"Sheriff Carlisle. I did not see that coming."

"I know," Dean said. He started towards the bathroom. "Okay, give me ten."

"Hey, Dean, where's Sam?"

"What is with you? I haven't seen Cooper since that last job. Why do you keep asking about him?"

"No, son, not Sam brother, Sam. Where is he?"

The last thing Dean heard before a burst of light ripped through his vision was Bobby calling his name.

When Dean opened his eyes again, his head felt sore as if someone had been playing basketball with it. His brain ached. He wasn't sure there was enough room in his skull to contain it.

The bed cushioned him and he was grateful not to wake up on the floor or on the pavement outside. He couldn't remember why he'd been unconscious but whatever it was had bruised something behind his eyes. It was nice to be in relative comfort after that.

"Hey, you still with me?" Bobby said.

Dean closed his eyes again. He blew out a slow breath and blinked his way slowly back into the light.

"Dean?" Bobby said.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said. His voice sounded gravelly in his ears.

"You know where you are?"

"Motel, right?"

"That was a pretty bad fit you had there."

"I don't remember. What happened?"

"Well, I…I asked you a question. Then you had what looked like a stroke and went down like a shot deer."

"Huh," Dean said, mulling over the description. "What did you ask?"

"Maybe put that on the back burner for a minute. I'm pretty sure the same thing happened earlier when I asked you on the phone."

"I don't remember."

"I'm getting that," Bobby said."Just try to relax for a bit. Get your sea legs back."

"You sure I didn't get clobbered? Feels like something tried to bash my brains in."

"I'm sure, Dean. I think what we got here is going to take some expert handling. I called a woman I know. She's not far away and she's coming over to take a look at you."

Dean started pushing himself to sit up. "I don't need a doctor, Bobby."

"She's not a doctor. Just bear with me, all right? Trust me."

"I do. You know I do. But, I'm not getting poked and prodded and stuck with needles. I just need a couple aspirin."

While Dean moved to stand up, Bobby stood back. The older man didn't try to stop him or interfere which Dean appreciated because he wasn't sure he could take on an angry kitten with his head pounding so hard.

Dean lurched into the bathroom feeling like his legs were going to crumble at any moment. He gave the door a quick nudge and it closed behind him. Like a starting shot at the beginning of a race, the sound of that door latching sent Dean's last three meals hurling out of his body. He barely made it to the toilet. By the time his insides stopped trying to move outside, he was kneeling and sweating.

"Christ," he said softly. He couldn't remember ever vomiting that violently.

He felt a cool, damp cloth across the back of his neck then a firm hand on his shoulder.

"There's some water on the sink. You need help getting up?" Bobby said.

Dean lifted his arm and Bobby dragged him gently upward holding on until he steadied. Dean flushed the toilet then looked at the shower.

"I think I need that."

"Good idea. Drink the water and brush your teeth. I'll throw some clothes back in here for you."

Dean nodded.

"Just take your time," Bobby said."Don't be stupid. If you feel like you're going to pass out again or you get dizzy or anything, you call out, all right?"

"I'm okay, Bobby."

"Yeah, well, let's not get crazy," Bobby said before he walked out.

Dean smiled fondly at his retreating back. He reached into the shower which was only a shower, not a bathtub and turned the water on. While it warmed up, he stripped off his smoke smelling, vomit splattered clothes feeling relieved just to have them off.

He stepped under the warm spray with a sigh. He brought the cool bottle of water with him and took a few sips. The headache that had been plaguing him was starting to diminish. As long as he didn't think about Carlisle's burning corpse or try to remember what Bobby had asked that caused his attack, Dean's stomach stayed settled too. He guessed that what he experienced was some kind of sudden, onset migraine. What else could knock him out like that unless he really had suffered a stroke?

Whoever Bobby thought he needed to see might have some answers but Dean wished he knew more about Bobby's suspicion. He understood that Bobby feared another attack but Dean didn't know of anything that could cause such a massive reaction.

As Dean allowed the water to run over the top of his head he realized that the episode he experienced was catching up with him. Hands trembling and eyes burning with exhaustion, he turned off the water and reached blindly for a towel off the rack. His fingers found one and he dried off. He stepped on to the thin mat lying on the floor and glanced towards the mirror. Fog hid his reflection and he was mostly glad for that. He guessed he'd find a pale impression of himself with freckles standing out.

True to his word, Bobby had left jeans, underwear and a t-shirt on the sink so Dean put some clothes on. He hadn't heard the bathroom door open or close which bothered him in a vague way. He felt vulnerable knowing that he was partially incapacitated. He supposed it was better to have Bobby there but he was used to taking care of himself.

With no socks he padded into the main room where Bobby sat on the edge of one bed and a woman sat across from him on the desk chair. Their knees were almost touching and Dean immediately felt like he'd walked in on some intimate moment. Both of his guests stood up as soon as he appeared.

"Dean Winchester, this is Audrey Mitchell," Bobby said.

Dean walked a couple of steps and held out his hand. Audrey shook with him displaying a strong grip and soft skin.

Dean wasn't sure how old she was. She looked like she might hover somewhere between forty and sixty. Her eyes were brown and set inside a face with just the start of crinkles around her eyes and mouth. Brown hair hung in waves at shoulder length with just a few strands of gray mixed in. She wore a green cloth in her hair that kept it pulled back. Dean didn't know what the cloth was called but if she had fit it around her forehead it would look like a hippie headband. He could see diamond studs decorating her ears.

She didn't look anything like Dean would have expected. Her bright, floral dress and green blazer completed a package that just did not match his image of whatever this woman was supposed to do for him.

"Audrey is a scryer," Bobby said. "She used to be a practicing witch but she's not in that field anymore."

Dean scowled and shook his head. "Bobby, I don't need my future told."

"Don't be short sighted, Dean," Audrey said. "I can do more than tell the future. I can look at the past as well. And with my background, I can generally reverse spells."

"I don't mean to be rude but I kill supernatural things, I don't…"

"Dean," Bobby said, warning in his voice.

"It's all right," Audrey said. "You have a lost memory, Dean. Something important. I'm going to help you find it. But, in order for me to do that, I have to search your past and find out where that memory went."

"How do you know I forgot something? I mean if I don't remember…"

Bobby walked over to stand in front of him. He said, "Trust me, son, you've forgotten something important. And when you try to remember it, you get zapped by some pretty serious conditioning. The headache, the collapse, those things are part of it. To steer you away from that memory."

"Nothing's that important. It doesn't make any sense."

"It will." Bobby patted his shoulder. "Why don't you have a seat so Audrey can examine you?"

Dean didn't want to sit down.

He hated the idea of a stranger rooting around in his mind. He didn't know if she'd take his temperature or try to invade his dreams but it made him uneasy. A legitimate scryer is capable of seeing past and future events. Kind of like a fortune teller or palm reader, they're sensitive to the world beyond the veil but a scryer is more focused. They tend to use crystal balls or power stones to hone in on particular events and then magnify the emotional or spiritual details in order to show their significance.

If Bobby was right and Dean had forgotten something or been conditioned to forget something, the kind of magnification used by scryers might be enough to give him an aneurysm. Or maybe Bobby was overreacting and Dean got hit harder by Carlisle than he realized. He was no stranger to concussions and sometimes they caused some weird problems.

But, Dean sat down as instructed anyway. He overrode his misgivings because he trusted Bobby. Besides he had a vague feeling that Bobby was right. He did feel like he was missing something. A shadow hovering just outside of his consciousness that danced around in the dark teasing him to remember.

Audrey picked up the desk chair and set it down in front of Dean. She smiled and took his hands in hers.

"All right, this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to say something that I believe will trigger an attack because I need to see the reaction. Then, after you settle again, I'm going to put you into a light state of hypnosis so that we can start counting back the days until we reach the point of significance."

"Don't you need a crystal ball?"

Audrey tugged the thick silver chain around her neck and pulled a starburst shaped crystal out from where it had been hiding under the top of her dress. The two inch stone was colorless.

"Are you ready?" She said.

"Let her rip," Dean said.

Almost immediately he started to feel pressure building behind his eyes. It wasn't the lightning bolt that he'd experienced before. It felt more like a warning to turn back. He kept quiet, not wanting Audrey to back off before they started.

"Dean, you have a brother named Sam Winchester."

The shaft of pain that shot through his skull crumpled him immediately. He thought he might have screamed but wasn't sure as he lurched forward grabbing his head with both hands. A set of arms wrapped around his torso and held him. Knowing it was Bobby, he leaned into the strength trying to hold back the blackness.

"It's all right, it's all right," Audrey said. Her words whispered through him and started to soothe the agony tearing into his head.

"Breathe," she said. "Nice and slow, deep breaths in and out."

He followed her directions almost as if he was being compelled.

"That's right," she said. "Nice and slow. Just listen to my voice and come back."

Dean's stomach twisted. He pulled violently to escape Bobby's hold and made a stumbling break for the bathroom. With eyes blurry from pain-filled tears and the threat of unconsciousness still hovering, memory guided him to the toilet where he spit up the water he had drunk and then dry-heaved for a few minutes.

Trembling with weakness and scared by the whole event, Dean pushed away from the toilet and leaned his back against the cupboard below the sink.

Bobby knelt close by and handed him another bottle of water.

"You all right?"

Dean just sent a glare at him.

"Okay," Bobby said. "When you're ready, come back out and we'll see about reversing this thing."

"I don't know what she asked me," Dean said. He thought he sounded weak and frightened.

"It's okay. She's the best at this, I promise. We're going to get it fixed."

As Bobby reached the doorway, Dean said, "This is important. I have to do this, right?"

"Afraid so, son. There's nothing bigger right now."

Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The pain still hovered and his stomach still churned but he breathed and he sipped water because whatever his mind was hiding, it had to be recovered


	8. Chapter 8

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 8

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When the shaking leveled off and his vision cleared, Dean finally stood up. He used the sink for leverage and took a moment to splash water on his face. He looked at himself, decided he might live despite the deathly complexion and returned to the main room.

Audrey gave Bobby a friendly pat on the arm then brushed against him as she passed. Dean reminded himself to ask Bobby about their past.

"I'm sorry to put you through that, Dean. But, now I'm sure that you've been put under a spell. It's a very powerful one. I'm sure the witch used some herbs along with incantations. She probably needed a blood sacrifice too. Most likely a cat or a rabbit but it could have been a goat or a calf depending on what she had available."

"Not a human," Dean said, needing to be sure.

"No, probably not. Witches don't normally sacrifice people. Animal sacrifices are far easier. I won't be able to figure out exactly what concoction of herbs and plants but I'm sure the witch used acacia, grass dragon and ginseng. Probably some other ingredients as well."

"Shouldn't there be a hex bag someplace to keep the spell active?"

"Not in this case. In effect, you are the hex bag. She took away an important part of who you are and then replaced it with a conditioning that makes your body violently reject all attempts to return that part to you."

"But, you can fix it," Dean said.

"I think so."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Bobby held up a hand and looked through the peep hole. He opened up quickly to Irv Franklin. Dean had met the other hunter a couple of times but had never worked with him. He towered over Bobby by a few inches and had the razor stubble and ball cap that reminded Dean of most hunters. He took his hat off revealing dark, black hair and shook Bobby's hand.

"Thanks for coming," Bobby said.

"I was close. No problem giving you a hand," Irv said.

"You remember Dean Winchester?"

"Sure, of course," Irv said and shook Dean's hand too.

"And this is Audrey Mitchell. She's helping us out."

"Audrey," Irv said in way of greeting then turned back to Bobby. "You figured out where the other one is yet?"

Bobby cringed and threw a quick look at Dean. Dean just looked back, not understanding.

"I'm pretty sure I know where, just don't know what we're up against yet. How about we talk about that outside?" Bobby said.

He left the room with Irv following. Dean stood up to go too but Audrey stopped him.

"That conversation isn't for you. Have a seat and let's get started."

"What other one?" Even as Dean asked he felt the first spike of pain in his head. Not as intense as the last one but it was a warning.

"Let's concentrate on something else. Will you lay down, please? On your back."

Dean shrugged and stretched out on the bed. Audrey took the crystal necklace from around her neck and held it above him. She spoke slowly and gently. Dean felt the pull of sleep. He had never been hypnotized before and didn't think it was possible. From the way he understood it, the subject needed to be open to suggestion. Dean questioned everything. He needed explanations and concrete information.

As Audrey's voice grew distant, it took on an echo quality that made Dean feel like he had fallen down a hole. From that far away place he watched her stand up and light some incense. She dropped some stones on the bed beside him. Dean just stayed in that weird tunnel that she left him in and watched dispassionately while she performed her ritual.

She returned to his side. She gathered his hand in hers and he felt something hard and cold against his palm. She spoke again, saying words that didn't make sense.

A fresh pulsing pain started pushing at Dean's brain. He pushed back, determined not to let it stop them. As the intensity grew, he found himself wanting to fight Audrey. He stiffened with the wash of agony spreading from his neck to his limbs. He started to roll away from her but she gripped him. Her fingers dug into his upper arm. Dean could hear the wind moaning around him but it didn't make any sense until he realized he was hearing himself. Heat filled him, starting to burn from the inside and he fought harder to escape. He thought he might get away when more hands joined hers in holding him down.

"Stop," he said. He gave the order all the strength he could but it wasn't much and she didn't stop.

Finally she looked down at him. Her pupils had blown wide taking all but the white with them. Not demon black, just scary black. Her face was inches from his as she started talking with slow, deliberate words.

"Sam Winchester. Younger . Remember, Dean. Sam Winchester. Little best friend. Dean, picture him. Your little brother. Remember when he was a baby. Come on, Dean, see him when he was a baby."

The image that floated up almost made Dean scream with the bolt of pain it brought. But, he saw it. A small, bundle of squalling baby holding his tiny hands out. A little face bundled in a knit hat and blanket tucked into a car seat in the Impala. A bottle extended from Dean's hand to the mouth that sucked on it greedily while his fingers touched Dean's.

"That's good. You can see the baby, can't you? How about a little bit older? Can you see him starting kindergarten? Hair too long, big eyes looking to you for advice, for support?"

In his mind's eye, Dean looked from his father to a little boy between them. The boy smiled as he let Dean's hand go. The boy dressed in thrift store jeans and hoodie hugged Dean's father before he ran off in the direction of the other children.

"It's Sam. You do remember, don't you? Your brother, Sam?"

Dean jerked up when his brain decided to implode. He cried out, sure that gray liquid was oozing out of his ears. There was no way his head could take a pop from the inside and not destroy itself. But, the pain only grew worse. He cried out again and tried to twist away from all the hands holding him.

"Don't give up, Dean," Audrey said. "Stay with me. What did Sam look like when he left for college? Come on, Dean, remember your brother, what did he look like? Was his hair curly? Was it hard to say good bye?"

"If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back."

Dean heard his father's voice from the living room. Dean stood in the kitchen with fists clenched, hearing his family break up, hearing the end.

"Don't worry. All I want is to be free of this, of you," Sam said.

Dean felt gutted. Sam wanted to be away from their father and away from him. He was leaving them both behind. He wanted to go out there, to stop them, to talk some sense into them. He wanted to save their family but he didn't. He couldn't face watching Sam walk out. So, he stayed in the kitchen and listened to the front door slam shut.

"Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

"Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside."

Dean stopped writhing on the bed. Weakly he stared at the three faces above him. They looked blurry but he'd recognize Bobby anytime. He blinked, surprised when a tear streamed down his face.

"Sam," Dean said. Panic started to surge. "Where's Sam?"

Bobby nodded towards Audrey and Irv and the two of them moved away. Dean didn't care where they went.

"Where's Sam, Bobby?"

"Do you remember him? Everything?"

"Oh my God," Dean said. "Bobby, I…that was the big thing. Sam was the thing I forgot? How could I…oh my God."

"Settle down. It was a spell. Someone made you forget."

"How could I forget Sam? I didn't miss picking him up at Kindergarten when I was ten. How could I forget him now?"

"You were under a spell."

Dean lifted up slowly. He pushed back to lean against the headboard and rubbed his eyes. Drained and sick, he worried he might try to vomit again.

"I need you to try and remember everything that's happened since you got to town."

"Go slow, Bobby," Audrey said. "We got lucky that he didn't have a full on stroke. So, don't push."

Dean rubbed his eyes again. Her comment sent a jolt through him. Had he almost died?

"Do you still have a headache?" Bobby said.

"No, not really," Dean said.

"How about your stomach?"

"I'm fine."

"Good. Then tell me what you remember from the last time you saw Sam." Bobby glanced at Audrey. "And if you start to feel sick, then tell me, or stop. "

"I don't know, God…" I forgot Sam, I forgot Sam, I forgot Sam.

"Dean," Bobby said. His stern voice, his "don't be an idgit" voice, his "you're a moron" voice all came from that one word.

"Okay," Dean said. "Okay, we moved out of a motel and went to one of those big chains, um, Holiday Inn. We stayed the night figuring we'd head to Cayuga after Sam got a chance to rest. He got away from them before but he had to jump out of a van so, I was worried. He wouldn't wait around though, had to get right back out there."

"Yeah, I know your brother," Bobby said.

"So, we went to get some food and then, I don't know, we were in an elevator maybe, something happened. When I woke up here I started looking for a hunt. I found the attacks in the woods and I decided it was probably a job. I just, I don't remember anything in between."

"Dean," Audrey said. "You were probably mostly unconscious when the spell was cast. The witch didn't need cooperation from you."

Dean looked at Bobby. "I don't know where Sam is."

"I think he's at the Gleason estate."

Dean nodded and scooted off the bed. When he stood, the room tilted to one side. Irv grabbed his arm. Dean yanked it back.

"I'm fine," he said with a growl.

"Whatever you say, boy," Irv said.

"Look, the only thing I was waiting for is intel," Bobby said."Now, it's time to go get your brother."

Dean found a shirt to replace the sweat soaked one he was wearing. He put on his socks and boots and grabbed his jacket. Bobby walked Audrey to her car. When he came back, Dean was ready to leave.

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Sam grew tired of turning his head from one side to the other to avoid the photographs. He ached from lying in one position. He preferred focusing on those discomforts though. He needed the distraction because behind all of that was the hard beating of his heart, the churning of his stomach and the buzz of adrenaline along his limbs.

He had been alone for a long time. No one had come to talk to him since Foster left.

A stray thought that he knew he should ignore had planted itself in his brain. The roots of it constricted his breathing and made him dizzy. The bloom threatened to push everything else out of his mind.

They weren't coming back.

Sam imagined dying in this small room, bound to the bed, alone and helpless and just wasting away. Two, three, four days maybe of just being alone while thirst robbed him of his sanity then his life. He'd never see Dean again. He'd never speak with another person again. No good-byes or confessions to make his passing meaningful. He'd just cease being. The regret and anger would make him a ghost. He knew he'd never cross over to the next stage, if there was a next stage. He'd stay and grow crazy and then, maybe, Dean would come…or Bobby. Some hunter would burn his remains and he'd be nothing.

Because, they weren't coming back.

Sam shook his head. He needed to dislodge that thought. There was nothing there but fear and pain and he fought to stay away from it. But, his heart thumped too fast and cold tendrils kept racing through his skin.

Sam took a long breath but it didn't begin to help. He was going to die here.

When the door to the room squeaked open, Sam's spirit rose with gratitude. He hated himself for it but a visitor, any visitor was better than the terror of dying alone.

Foster and Bentley walked across the threshold. Bentley stayed near the open door. Beyond him, Sam could see the hall. He wanted to be in that hall more than anything.

"I got to thinking," Foster said. "You seem awfully comfortable lying here. Sure, you smell like piss but you're just…lying here."

"Untie me. I'll do more," Sam said.

"I have a better idea. How about a challenge instead?"

Sam wrestled back his fear. "Did you bring a puzzle?"

Foster looked back at Bentley. "He's a funny guy." Then back to Sam. "Not quite."

Foster stared at Sam. Sam watched him too, waiting, scared of what he might do. He felt like he was being surveyed or studied. Foster never shied away from causing as much pain as possible and Sam remained tense for whatever sadistic action Foster would perform.

"You know, I've seen your x-rays. Doctor Langstrom pointed out a couple of old breaks that had nothing to do with our time together. You're used to broken bones, aren't you?"

"Don't really get used to it," Sam said. Fear laced his tone. He was sure Foster could hear the growing anxiety.

"Richard never allowed me to hear your bones snap. He never wanted that kind of damage. Takes too long to heal and if it's never taken care of there are all sorts of deformities that can happen."

Deformities. Sam's barren mouth dried even more. Foster was just crazy enough to cripple him and there was nothing Sam could do to stop him.

Foster walked to the door and put his hand on something that Sam couldn't see. But, Sam knew what it was even before Foster taunted him with it. The knobbed, wooden stick, just slightly thicker than a baseball bat fit in Foster's hand like it was another appendage. It was Foster's weapon of choice. He had beaten Sam with it so often that it was likely stained with his blood.

Terror strangled Sam with the sight of it.

"Please don't," he said. He hated himself for begging but he couldn't stop. "Not again. Please."

Foster flipped the stick in his hand, caught the opposite end and drew back in a batter's stance. He brought it around hard, slamming it into Sam's forearm. The only thing that hid the crack of snapping bone was Sam's scream. His mangled arm dangled in the leather cuff. At first shock took away any pain but then it blossomed and sang agony through his limb. With his arm suspended he could feel the bone moving, ends scraping against each other inside his skin.

Bentley pushed Foster. He didn't speak, just shoved until they were both in the hall and then closed and locked the door.

Sam could barely see through blurred eyes. Darkness pushed into him as shock and pain won out over consciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged. Looking forward to hearing what you think.

This is another longer chapter. I am posting about twelve hours early because the weekend is going to be busy.

Part 9

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 **Saturday-Day Five**

When Sam woke again he gasped out a curse. Every part of him hurt. Every part of him pulsed with fear. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't get past the terror.

He berated himself.

"Man up," Dean's voice berated him too.

Sam felt wild with panic. He wanted to rage against it and he wanted to hide under the bed. His skin crawled with goose bumps and cold chills. His stomach stayed clenched but rolling with long winged bats too.

"Stop, stop," he said. He needed to get himself under control. He needed to escape.

With a moment to think he realized things had changed. He remained on his back but was no long secured to the bed. Black and red mottled skin lay over the swollen bulge of his broken arm. No one had done anything to treat it. But, he was free, allowing him to test the idea of sitting up.

He swallowed back his fear of the inevitable pain and levered his body upward. The moment his left arm shifted, he gasped, squeezing his eyes closed. He slowed down, feeling the pull while he tried to get his legs around to the floor. He usedhis good arm to pull the other one close to his body, protecting it, trying not to jar the bones and set off another agonizing flood. He feared he might pass out again and he didn't want to. He needed to get to the door.

As he carefully scooted up enough to put his feet down, he breathed slow and deep. His stomach roiled threateningly, his mouth filling with hot water. He swallowed convulsively forcing the bile back. He was sure if he vomited, he'd lose consciousness. Gradually, taking too long and knowing Foster or AJ could return at any moment, Sam managed to get his nausea under control.

He tucked the swollen limb in tighter to his body and took the next step. He stood up, grimacing at the feel of damp jeans against his skin. He had fought a short battle against urinating where he lay but ultimately there hadn't been any choice. After the first time, he had given up. Now, he tried not to let the smell and the sensation make him sick again.

He was trembling like a child and his breath stuttered over his lips. He just couldn't quite shake the dread that hung over him. But he steadied and took a step away from the bed. The room tilted to one side making him stop again while he worked towards keeping his balance.

As he looked towards the door, the only road to freedom, he found the hated photos taped there. Mocking him with new images, Sam rode a wave of despair.

An image of Charles Gleason staring down him; towering over a kid who hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. Sam's back was to the camera but he recognized himself, remembered how confident he'd been that his father and Dean would find him. Another photo showed Richard Gleason hovering over him as he knelt, beaten and bound, in the house's mud room. A third photo seemed to separate from the others, suddenly standing out and depicting a harsh close-up of fourteen year old Sam with his eyes squeezed shut and his face wet with tears.

Sam closed his eyes. He couldn't look at the anguish in that face.

When the room door opened, a frightened gasp burst out of him before he could stop it. AJ stood at the threshold for several seconds before she finally wore a patchwork skirt that hung to her ankles and a plain yellow t-shirt. Sam shifted, trying to pull himself up and present a strong front but the pull on his broken arm made him hiss, destroying any illusion he might have created.

"You're looking worse forwear," she said. Her disinterest in his upright condition was obvious.

Sam didn't have the desire or the strength to spar with her. He stayed quiet.

"Bentley will be here in a while with some water. Can't have you dying of thirst. A lingering death would suit me fine after what you did to my family but I need you alive."

Sam stared at her, curious and worried. "Need me alive? For what?"

AJ smiled. She looked like a vampire about to eat a new victim.

"Do you have any idea how many spells require human blood?"

She paused, apparently letting that information sink in.

"Anyway," she said. "If you behave I'll keep Mark away from you for a while. Not forever, obviously, I have to feed my pets but a little break."

"What do you want?" Sam pushed the words over his dry throat then wished he hadn't as the thought of retribution crossed his mind.

AJ gave a thin smile as response. She glanced at the door with the photos taped there.

"Do you like them? The pictures?"

Sam said nothing.

AJ tapped her finger against her front tooth.

"You don't want to leave this room," she said. "You're relatively safe in here."

"Really?" Sam said. Considering his broken bone and the rest of the abuse his body had taken, not believing her.

"Yes. There's a monster in the hall. You remember those Big Foot sightings? He's mine. A little creation I put together. He's guarding the hall. If you leave this room, he'll tear you to shreds."

"I kill monsters for a living," Sam said. The brave words sounded hollow in his head.

"Be afraid."

She flicked her wrist casually and Sam screamed at the sudden pain cutting through his gut. He curled over, sinking to his knees and waiting for his stomach to tumble on to the floor. Then just as quickly it passed. He gasped for air while she walked out of the room. Sam heard the snick of the door and the scrape of the lock turning.

As the pain dissipated the acid churning around his belly threatened to give up whatever was inside. He swallowed convulsively trying not to jar his arm.

His mind tossed up a game that Dean used to play when they were kids. Sam would be complaining about some minor ache or injury from training and Dean would punch him in the arm.

"There," he'd say. "Now, you can stop talking about…"the bruise or the scrape or whatever it was that he'd been whining about.

The broken arm seemed to be serving that same purpose. It dampened the pain in his gut and minimized the other injuries that he'd gathered. It all faded against the constant thumping in his mangled limb.

With a strangled groan, Sam levered himself off the floor and started for the door. He had heard the lock turn but maybe it wasn't latched all the way. He stood in front of it and reached for the handle. His heart picked up its rhythm, feeling a drum beating against his chest. Sweat broke out against his neck and down his arms. A cold chill swept through him. He pulled his hand back and stepped away. The photos glared back at him, mocking him, calling him a coward.

"There's a monster in the hall," AJ had said.

Sam took a breath, swallowing hard. He reached for the handle again. His hand shook like a starved junkie and he couldn't move from where he stood.

Monster…in the hall. Tear you to shreds.

Sam moved backward towards the bed. He kept going until his legs hit the frame. He winced at the minor collision.

The door opened and Sam kept moving, trying to keep distance between himself and the hall.

George Bentley walked in. He closed the door and walked up to Sam. He dropped a small bottle of water on the bed. The sight of it made Sam's throat ache. He hadn't thought much about being thirsty or hungry but seeing the clear liquid splash around inside the bottle ignited a palpable need to drink it.

"Stand still and let me look at you," Bentley said.

Sam towered over Bentley. He knew he could easily disable the older man if he tried. But, then what? A mad dash through a hallway guarded by a monster? And what about his arm? Could he throw his body into a fight when a sharp turn or a deep breath forced him to fight for consciousness? He stood still. Bentley looked into this face and eyes then scowled.

"Drink. You're pasty, skin is dry, eyes sunken. There's nothing in that bottle but water so if you want to get through the next day, you better drink it down."

Sam couldn't answer. He was horrifyingly close to crying so he stared past Bentley and waited for him to leave. Bentley shook his head and walked to the door. Despair joined with the constant anxiety as Sam heard it close and lock once again.

John Winchester raised Dean and Sam with a lot of rules. They made their beds every day even if that meant making military corners on a cot or rolling up a sleeping bag. They kept their personal belongings organized. It didn't matter that most of them were stored in a duffle bag. They were respectful to adults, even the ones who thought children were useless baggage.

But, the rule that John harped on more than any other was courage. John told them that showing courage even when terrified would save their lives. Courage meant not giving in or giving up. It meant faith in their own abilities and would allow them to think when panic tried to override them.

And Sam had failed. Not fighting Bentley, not trying for the door had equaled surrender and defied everything that Sam had learned, everything that he thought he was.

He picked up the water with his good hand then realized he'd need to anchor it in order to open it. He sat down on the bed, put the water between his knees and twisted off the cap. He guzzled it down fast, unable to go slow, desperate for the fluid. He emptied it quickly and tossed the empty plastic container on to the floor.

His throat felt better and his stomach tolerated the water. He gave himself a couple of minutes to make sure.

Sam looked at the photos on the door. He could feel the accusation of the victim, reminding him that he hadn't been able to save himself. He had been rescued by his father and by Dean. He had been the weak one.

As he faced up to that he realized that he'dnever left the scared, little boy behind. That child remained in him. He couldn't blame abuse by Charlie Gleason's ghost or by Richard Gleason either. It didn't matter what happened ten years earlier or how much he'd driven back the memories. Sam had surrendered to fear, given away his courage and become the victim that he had worked so hard to avoid.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. The empty room didn't care.

Overcome with exhaustion, Sam reclined. He drifted between thoughts for a long time, not sleeping, just letting the list of failures wash over him.

The ebb and flow of the excruciating pulse from his arm dictated his movements. If he stayed completely still, it was mostly bearable. If he shifted or even breathed too hard he'd spend the next several minutes fighting not to vomit and or pass out.

With the constant thumping from his arm, Sam's paranoia grew in tandem. He recognized that he was terrified but couldn't seem to escape it. He couldn't suppress it. The fear kept him in an adrenaline fueled nightmare that wouldn't abate. He couldn't think clearly, couldn't push it aside.

His fear refused to allow him to move forward with any ideas for escape. He'd get so far and then he'd imagine the capture, the beating, the torture that would follow. His mouth grew dusty and the bats in his belly grew bigger. He'd force himself to stop, to start over and then hope for a good plan to emerge from his pathetic imagination.

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 **Sunday-Day Six**

AJ visited again. Sam jerked upward then grimaced back any reaction to the sudden movement.

Sam hated seeing her almost as much as he hated lingering in the quiet alone.

"Good morning," she said.

Sam tucked the greeting away. It was the first indication he had of time and he relished it.

"Your arm looks terrible. I think you'll be a cripple when this is over. Gangrene will set in. Infection. If you ever leave here, they'll amputate. Maybe I'll ask Doctor Langstrom to do it. He's still practicing, you know."

"What do you want?" The same question he had asked before.

"I have what I want. Seeing you like this. I've heard rumors about hunters and Winchesters. But, you don't impress me, you don't live up to the legacy or the hype. Truthfully, I considered wiping your memory and keeping your brother instead. I'm starting to regret my decision. But, my father wanted you for some reason."

Sam's heart pounded violently when he thought about Dean being here instead of him.

"Nothing to say? Not even a chest thumping demand to stay away from your brother? You disappoint me. Everyone said you were the weaker one. I guess they were right."

Sam couldn't argue the point.

"At least my father was proud of me," she said, clearly intimating that John was never proud of Sam.

AJ left again and Sam carefully stood up. He turned his attention back to the torturous photos. He didn't know when she changed them but now they were a mix between the first set and the second.

He grew tired of not looking at them. He finally decided that he needed to see them. Like a child who wants to watch a scary movie over and over, Sam needed to take the impact away from the pictures by really looking at them.

Sam chose each one carefully knowing that too many memories taken too fast would only overwhelm him. He started with the most recent, the barn photos. He studied the background, seeing the beat up barn walls, the knot holes in the wood, an old bucket sitting in a corner and the metal wheel with a rope wrapped around it. Wood slats covered the floor with only a scant trace of hay. Animals hadn't been stored there in a long time. He followed the rope from the wheel upward until he could see it threaded through the chains that led to the cuffs around his wrists. His hands were clenched tight with white knuckles braced within red fingers.

Sam followed the line from his arms to his shoulders to his face. There was no color in his face other than some traces of bruising. He was staring outward, mouth open just a little bit. His lips were dry and cracked with the slightest trace of blood.

A thump against the door startled him. Sam flinched. Another thump and he took a step back. He could hear the scrape of something against the floor then a low growl. Sam backed up. Another hard thump drove him to crouch beside the bed. He tucked his broken limb close to his body and drew his knees up. He scrunched his body tight, trying to create a smaller target and protect himself too. He held his breath to keep quiet. He was shaking so hard the bed rattled behind him.

There's a monster in the hall.

The door banged open. Sam yelled out even as he pushed himself up and pressed against the wall behind him.

George Bentley strode in, leaving the door open.

Sam darted his attention between watching Bentley and watching the hall.

"Close the door," Sam said, panic making him reckless.

"We're leaving," Bentley said, coming at him, bearing down on him.

"Close the door."

"You don't give the orders."

Bentley stood over him, glaring. "Mark likes that stick. Remember when he used to beat your legs? I'm thinking he had the right idea. Get up or I'll make it necessary to drag you out of here."

Sam didn't know what he'd done wrong. He tried to push back further, his feet scrabbling against the floor but there was no place to go.

Without thinking Sam kicked out as instinct overrode preservation. He caught Bentley hard in the shins and the other man lost his balance. Bentley stumbled forward, catching his hand on the wall above Sam's head while Sam threw his body forward, ramming his shoulder into Foster's legs. Off balance, Bentley spun to one side but didn't fall.

Sam drove forward, hugging his injured arm to his chest, adrenaline and habit forcing the pain back. He made it to the door and hesitated. It was open, escape just across the threshold but his legs wouldn't carry him. He heard Bentley swearing behind him and Sam had to decide.

The terror of what lay beyond the door paralyzed him but Bentley was coming. He had to do something.

Sam took a step towards the hall. Bentley tackled him. Sam slammed into the floor, screaming when he landed on his broken arm. Dazed, air stuttering around in his chest, barely making it in or out of his body, Sam twisted, while Bentley grabbed his head and slammed it into the floor. Blackness swirled around but Sam knew if he passed out, the security chief would kill him. He pushed back against the dark when several gunshots and the sound of Bentley screaming jolted him awake. Suddenly Bentley's body crushed him and he couldn't breathe past the pain and the pressure.

He must have lost consciousness because when Sam became aware again, George Bentley was lying in a bloody heap with sightless eyes staring at him.

"Sam," Dean said. His brother sat crouched beside him looking worried.

Sam looked at Dean. Hope surged up then a whirlpool of fear swallowed it. Terror at being out in the open; of Dean being out in the open raged to the surface.

"We have to go back," Sam said. Too weak to stand, he started scooting backward towards the room intending to go inside and shut the door.

"What's he doing?" Irv Franklin looked over Dean's shoulder.

"There's a monster out here," Sam said. "We have to get inside."

Dean and Irv started searching around for the danger.

"Where?" Irv said.

Sam kept moving until he reached the far wall. With his back against something solid, he drew his legs in. Dean stayed outside the door, glancing between him and the hall.

"Bobby," Dean said. "Sam says there's a monster out here."

"Where?" Bobby said.

Sam pulled his arm in tighter to his body. He knew another jolt to that limb and he'd go down.

"The monster…from the woods…she said it's guarding the hall." Sam put as much urgency into his voice as possible. He needed them to get to safety. "Get in here and shut the door."

"I thought you killed it," Irv said.

"I did," Dean said.

"Hey," Bobby said. "I'm feeling a little queasy."

"You want a Tums," Dean said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"No, smartass. Don't you feel it?" Bobby said.

Irv frowned. "You know, now that you mention it. I am feeling a little sick."

Sam's head hurt and he thought he might vomit. He needed them to listen.

He shook his head. "Monster…in the hall."

Bobby stepped over Bentley's body and around the other hunters. He went into Sam's room and stopped.

"Christ," he said as he put a hand to his head.

He walked back out and disappeared around the corner. Sam stayed where he was. He knew he should be relieved that Bentley was dead but all he could think about was AJ's reaction. She would do something terrible to him. She might do something to Dean again.

"We got to go," Bobby said. He had only been gone a moment. "It's a fear cage. She has this whole area rigged up with EMF and hex bags. Whatever spell she's working, it'll probably start messing with us too. That nausea, headache you're getting? It's the EMF. I don't know what all else but let's get out of here now."

"No," Sam said. "We have to stay here. Dean, we have to stay here."

"Dean," Bobby said. "There are pictures of Sheriff Carlisle in there. I'm betting she did something to set him off."

"Damn it," Dean said then, "Sammy, we got to go."

"The monster…"

"There's no monster. I killed it. You know it's dead if I tell you, right?"

Dean wouldn't lie about something like that but Sam could feel the monster's presence. He could smell the damp odor of decay.

"It's in the hall."

"There's nothing in the hall," Dean said.

"Come on, man, we got to get," Irv said.

"Give me a minute," Dean said. Sam heard the anger in his voice but he heard the urgency too.

Dean had been hovering in the doorway with Bobby and Irv standing close behind him. Dean glanced at Bobby before walking into the room. He crouched at Sam's side and tapped Sam's leg.

"How are you doing?"

Sam just stared at him. His heart was racing and he didn't know how to answer.

"What happened to your arm?"

Sam knew if he told Dean that it was broken then Dean would make him go into the hall.

"I'm all right," Sam said.

"Looks broken. We should get that fixed up."

Sam drew in a breath. He hated the shaking and trembling that refused to stop shuddering its way through his body.

"Sammy, you're going to have to trust me. Once we get you away from here, you'll feel a lot better."

"Why won't you listen to me?" Sam said. He knew he sounded desperate.

"No, you need to listen to me. The witch is doing this. Let me get you out of here."

"I can't go back to the barn." Sam hated the tears that burned his eyes. He hugged his knees closer to his chest.

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay. Then you have to be brave. Walk out of here with me. Bobby is here. Irv Franklin is here. We'll take care of everything if you just walk out with us."

"Dean, time's wasting," Bobby said from the hall.

Both Bobby and Irv turned, lifting their guns and planting their feet.

"You're putting everyone in danger, Sam. That's what a coward does. Are you going to get us all killed because you're too scared to stand up?"

"Then leave me."

"Shut up. Are you going to let us get killed or not?"

All the fear balled up in Sam's belly. He felt like he'd explode. His brain continued pummeling the inside of his skull and the shaking grew worse. Even if he could stand up, he was sure his legs wouldn't hold him. But, what choice did he have? They wouldn't close the damn door. They wouldn't leave him behind. Dean's stare felt like it was burning through him.

"Help me," Sam said before he realized he'd made a decision.

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's back while Sam used the wall for leverage. Together they managed to get off the floor. Dean stayed next to him, kept his arm around him and maneuvered them through the hall door. Sam held his breath when they crossed the threshold where Bobby gave him an appraising look before he moved in front of them and started leading the way down the hall. Irv covered them from behind while they took a cautious hike towards the stairs.


	10. Chapter 10

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 10

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Breaching the Gleason compound had been surprisingly easy. The security cameras showed clear signs of being torn out. The entrance, previously gated and manned, was open. A few guards walked the property but there weren't enough of them to keep the whole place locked down and secure.

The three men had waited for one of the guards to wander by the entrance gate. Bobby called out to him, claiming a need for jumper cables. The guard had given him a surly answer just before Dean nabbed him and dragged him to the street.

Irv had threatened to start chopping off fingers before the middle-aged rent-a-cop told them that Sam was on the second floor of the main house.

Dean knocked him out with a hard punch that probably dislocated his jaw then they dumped him into the trunk of Irv's old Dodge.

They had spent the next hour crossing the compound and breaking into the kitchen entrance where Bobby choked out the cook and Dean walloped a guard. They locked both of them in a food pantry.

They had taken a back stairway from the kitchen to the second floor where Sam tumbled into view at the far end of the hall. Sam had yelled out when he hit the ground and then George Bentley looked up at Dean with deliberate malice, grabbed Sam by the head and slammed it hard into the floor. Sam had made a small, oomph noise before three shots rang out.

Dean had jumped to one side, startled by the sound. Then he saw Irv walking forward, gun out and eyes locked on Bentley.

The next several minutes had been some of the most frightening in Dean's life. First, making sure Sam was alive then having to talk his brother into being brave. Sam had always been the cautious brother but he was also the more headstrong. He generally followed Dean's orders, but, when it came to a battle, Sam never hesitated, never backed down, and never stopped pushing until something made him stop. Seeing him curled up on the floor, eyes wide with terror, his body shaking like a scared puppy had made Dean go cold inside.

Once he managed to convince Sam to leave the room, Dean kept one hand on his brother's back, gently propelling him forward. He didn't want Sam to panic and go back. He could feel him trembling, could hear his rapid breathing. But, he kept moving.

When they reached the "T" in the hall, Bobby suggested they split up.

"You take Sam and go out the kitchen, the way we came. That's the safest way. Irv and me will go down the main staircase and head for the exit. We can clear a path to the car."

"Bobby, we should stay together," Dean said.

"No, he's right," Irv said. "Sam needs a doctor. Can't risk him getting caught again."

"Then you two take him," Dean said. "I'll get AJ and her bunch to follow me."

"There's no use arguing, boy," Bobby said. "Sam ain't going with anyone but you. So, take him and go. We'll come back your way as soon as we get rid of anyone moving around outside."

"I left Sam behind the last time I was here, I'm not doing that to you."

"Don't be an idgit. Get going. Before it's not an option."

"Bobby," Dean said.

"Go. We'll be all right."

Irv gave a two fingered salute off his forehead before he and Bobby started down the right hall. Dean patted Sam on the back giving him a nudge before they started back towards the kitchen. Sam turned wide eyes back at him. Combined with his pasty complexion, he looked like a sick five year old.

They made it to the edge of the stairwell leading into the kitchen before Sam stopped like a donkey facing a cliff.

"We can't go down there," Sam said.

"Why not?"

"They're all waiting. Dean, they'll really hurt me this time."

"I'm right here. No one is going to hurt you."

"You can't stop her. She's more powerful than anything we've seen."

"She's a witch," Dean said. "A human who can do spells."

"No."

"Yes. We're going. Stay close to me and don't talk. We're going to be quiet and we're going to get out of here."

"You sound like Dad."

"Good. Now, stay close."

Sam took the staying close part seriously. Dean felt like his brother was practically in his pocket. The two of them crept cautiously down the stairs. Dean listened for anything that might indicate trouble from the kitchen area. Hearing was difficult because Sam was breathing so loudly but Dean did his best to focus around that.

He hadn't heard any commotion coming from Bobby and Irv's direction. No sounds of fighting or gunshots. If the older hunters had been discovered, it had happened quietly.

Just as they reached the bottom, Sam recoiled back a step and gasped.

Dean looked around but couldn't see anything that explained his reaction.

"What is it?"

"I can't go down there," Sam said, his voice a whisper.

"Why?" Dean stepped on to the floor and searched the area. He couldn't feel any cold spots or electricity in the air.

"No one's here," Dean said. "Come on so we can get out of here."

"She knows… all of her family's secrets. She doesn't think they did anything wrong."

"Brainwashed. Like that little Bender girl."

Sam shook his head. "No. I think she's just one of them."

Sam stalled in the stairwell. He stood leaning towards the wall, cradling his arm. His eyes darted back and forth through the kitchen.

Dean rolled his eyes. He started back to pull Sam along with him when the outside door crashed open. Sam crouched down, covering his head with one hand while Dean rushed at the man standing in the threshold.

Mark Foster fired off a shot before Dean tackled him, taking both of them out the door and rolling off the porch. Dean threw several hard punches into the bald man's face, satisfaction filling him when he felt the break of a cheekbone. Mark screamed and shoved wildly trying to dislodge his attacker but Dean was relentless. He pounded on the other man, targeting his face repeatedly. He knocked Mark out but didn't stop until finally reason caught up with him. Panting with adrenaline and spent energy, Dean pushed himself off Foster.

As the world came back into focus after the frenzied violence, he looked for Sam. Guessing that his brother was still on the stairs, Dean mounted the porch and went through the door. Sam was sitting on one step, rocking.

Dean used his jeans to wipe Foster's blood off his hands before crouching down.

"It's all right," he said.

"Is he dead? She won't like it if he is."

Dean scowled. "He's not dead. But, they know we're here. We have to get ready for more."

Sam shook his head. "She won't let us go."

"Just stay here."

Dean closed the kitchen door and moved the dining table in front of it. On the opposite side of the kitchen a door leading to the rest of the house stood. Heavy wood on a swinging hinge, it looked like their best chance for escape.

"Come on, Sammy, it's time to go."

A heavy bang sounded from the outside door. The kitchen table flew inward, skidding against the floor with a whine then landing on its side. A knife and vegetables flew across the kitchen as Dean darted to one side to avoid getting hit by anything. He turned to see a woman with long, brown hair and wearing a shapeless eyelet dress standing in the doorway. She lifted her hand towards Sam and Sam grunted, grabbing his middle and rolling on to his side. Dean fired his gun at her. Her other hand flew up and the bullet stopped in mid-air. It spun menacingly for a moment before it clattered harmlessly to the floor.

She looked back at Sam who was still rolling around the floor, making strangled moans. She jerked her hand and he screamed pulling himself up even smaller.

"Stop," Dean said, fighting the urge to charge at her. He stayed still, sorting through his need to help Sam and figuring out how to stop her.

She brought her hand down and Sam rolled over, panting.

"Who broke my spell?" AJ said.

"Tooth fairy," Dean said.

AJ pointed at Sam who lurched up in pain again. He started trying to get back up the stairs, crawling to escape her.

Dean fired again. This time he kept shooting until he emptied the clip. AJ glared at him as bullets clattered to the floor. She cocked her head, lifted her head and pointed towards Dean. He smiled and pointed at her.

"Got something on your dress," he said.

Confusion crossed her face as she looked down to see blood blossoming over the fabric. She looked back at Dean then at Sam who was breathing hard, but lying still and clutching his broken arm.

AJ collapsed to her knees. She let out a long, soft wail as she fell over. Dean could see the death in her but he couldn't bring himself to care. She may have been technically human but she chose to be a witch and she chose to be evil.

Dean knelt to check AJ's pulse when he heard a scrape on the floor. Just as he twisted, gun out, to see what it was, Mark Foster screamed and stopped only a foot from where Dean huddled. Dean didn't watch the bald man collapse. He watched Sam yank the kitchen knife out of Foster's body then look at it in surprise.

Sam slipped to his knees, the knife clutched in his good hand, while he awkwardly held his broken limb.

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Bobby walked into the kitchen from the interior entrance. With the upturned table blocking the door, he had to push to get it open enough to slide in. A bruise colored one side of his face and dried blood clung to his fingers. Irv followed behind him looking dirty but Dean didn't see any injuries.

"You two all right?" Dean said, nodding towards Bobby's hand.

"Yep. Couple employees of the year wanted to stop us but we locked them in the cellar round the other side of the house," Bobby said.

"We're secure," Irv said. "I think the last of the trouble is laying around in here. How's Sam doing?"

"He'll be all right," Dean said.

"It's safe through the main house. Cars aren't far. Can he walk?" Bobby said.

Dean glanced back at Sam. He was still kneeling but he'd started to rock a little. Dean looked at Bobby feeling helpless.

"Let's get Sam to a hospital," Bobby said. "Need to get that arm set."

"Probably should take a look at your hand too," Irv said.

"Hand's fine," Bobby said. "A little disinfect, a couple stitches. Can do it myself."

"I'm thinking the hex bags upstairs need to get burned," Dean said. "I don't know what kind of juice she has being dead but I don't want to leave them."

"Probably right about that," Bobby said. He took a container out of his pocket and tossed Dean a can of lighter fluid.

Dean caught it easily then nodded towards Sam and said to Bobby, "Keep an eye on him."

As he ran up the steps he heard Sam start to say something but his voice trailed off. Dean guessed he was going to warn him about the monster which just reinforced Dean's urgency to get the hex bags burned and get Sam someplace safe.

He jogged down the hall and went into the room where Bobby had found AJ's spell work. He counted six different bags set out on a wooden table. He didn't stop to look inside them. He stacked them into a pile, doused them with lighter fluid and set them on fire. They flamed up with a roar before disintegrating into nothing. He also found a couple cups with a few ounces of blood in each one. Using a white cloth that someone had left behind, he sopped up the liquid then set that on fire too. Finally, he gathered up some fingernails that were human and some tiny bones that probably weren't. He added the photos of Sheriff Carlisle and burned those too.

Satisfied with cleaning out that room, he moved to the cell where they'd held Sam. He checked around quickly but thoroughly. The room was empty other than the bed so it was easy to search.

He pushed the door to look behind it and a flutter caught his eye. He looked up to see several photos taped to the door. Dean's mouth dried up and his throat filled as he made sense of the images. He stopped moving. He stared at them, seeing his young brother being abused, taking in the fear and pain on his teenage face. Dean hadn't known. He had asked and been told the worst didn't happen. But, it wasn't true. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the tickle of hot, angry tears. Dean felt the wall at his back and realized it was holding him up.

Fury burst through him like a dam breaking. He ripped the photos off the door, dropping them as if he was touching something vile. He saturated them in lighter fluid then flipped a match on to them. The fire whooshed back with a wave of heat that made him step away.

"Damn it," he murmured as he forced himself to regain control.

All his emotions, whatever they were going to morph into had to wait. He needed to get Sam out of the house and off the property.

Dean ran back down the hall and down the steps. He found Irv still waiting by the door while Bobby and Sam stood to one side. Sam swayed just enough for Dean to notice.

"You all right, boy?" Bobby said to Dean.

Dean nodded, knowing it was a lie.

He joined Irv and the two of them lifted the kitchen table upright. Irv pushed open the kitchen door.

Bobby stood away while Dean moved to Sam's side to guide him out. Sam leaned towards him, not on him, just near him like he was looking for shelter. Dean stayed close, talking as they walked through the house, hoping to keep Sam's attention away from Mark Foster and AJ Gleason.

The chilly evening brushed over them until they reached Dean's "baby" and Irv's Dodge. Dean opened the passenger side door of the Impala and helped Sam ease inside. Sam hadn't spoken in a long time. Dean could feel him trembling as he slid into his usual seat. Once he was settled, Dean closed the car door.

He found Irv behind his Dodge scowling.

"What?" Dean said.

"The gate guard is in my trunk. Forgot all about him."

"Is he making any noise?" Dean said.

"Yep. Kicking and carrying on."

"Let him out. Tell him his boss is in the kitchen. What's he going to do now? Call the cops?"

"Good enough," Bobby said, agreeing with Dean's idea.

"Okay," Irv said. He looked at Bobby. "You ready?"

"Let him out," Bobby said.

Both Dean and Bobby lifted their guns to cover the trunk. When Irv opened it, the gate guard popped up like a Jack in the Box. When the guard saw the weapons pointed at him, he held one hand out while the other held his jaw.

He didn't look much older than Sam and his voice trembled as he mumbled, "You don't have to kill me."

"If you climb out of there and head back into the property, you get to live," Irv said.

The guard nodded.

"Don't look back," Irv said.

The guard kept one hand up as he walked through the gate and away from them. Once he left their sight, Dean climbed into the Impala. Bobby joined Irv in his car.


	11. Chapter 11

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

A/N: I just realized that I was late in posting Chapter 10. Darn those three day holidays that screw up my timing. So, anyway, here is Chapter 11 and I'll be back on schedule. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading.

Part 11

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 **Monday-Day Seven**

Following a pre-arranged plan, Dean followed Irv's car to Corning. Irv drove to the local hospital which was a three level brick building about a mile from where the Chemung River split the city into two halves.

Sam remained mostly silent, barely answering Dean's questions. He continued holding his arm and squirming in the passenger seat as if he wanted to jump out.

When they reached the hospital, Bobby flashed his fake FBI credentials. He told the nurse that Sam was a fellow agent and he'd been injured in the line of duty. There weren't many people waiting anyway but the federal weight pushed Sam to the front of the line. About ten minutes later he was in a wheelchair with Dean by his side.

A young doctor named Mary Jane treated Sam. Dean read her nametag before giving her a knowing smile.

"My parents have a sense of humor," she said and Dean guessed that she said it a lot.

At first Sam pulled away from Dr. Jane and any other stranger that drew close. Dean managed to talk him into letting her look at him but Sam remained stiff and tense throughout. It took several hours to get X-rays, his arm set in a cast, IV fluids to remedy the dehydration and IV's for pain management. They took his clothes and gave him scrubs to wear since his jeans were urine soaked and the rest of his things were filthy.

Doctor Jane asked what happened and Dean told her that Sam had been in an accident at home and no one had found him for a couple of days. She didn't believe him but she didn't argue. She suggested keeping Sam overnight but said it was "just for observation" so Sam declined and Dean agreed with his brother.

Bobby and Irv stood up to greet them when they came back to the waiting room. Dean noticed that Bobby's hand had been wrapped in bandages.

"How're you doing, kid?" Bobby said to Sam.

Sam gave a jerky nod. "Good. Fine."

Bobby looked at Dean who said, "It's true. A broken arm, a broken rib, some bruises. He just needs to take it easy for a few days and in six weeks they'll take the cast off."

"Irv's going to give me a ride back to my truck," Bobby said.

"Get that done and head down to Texas," Irv said.

"I want to find a room, get some sleep and head out in the morning," Bobby said.

"Still kind of close to Cayuga," Dean said.

Dean glanced at the nurse who stood behind Sam's wheelchair. She gave him a bland smile.

"I'll bring the car around," Dean said.

He walked out to the parking lot and brought the Impala to the curb. The nurse, who looked like a destitute Betty White, waited with Sam, Bobby and Irv. She admired the car as she started to help Sam. He pulled away from her, gave her a surly "I got it" and slid into the front seat. The nurse didn't seem to take offense and wished them a safe trip home.

Once the two of them were settled, Bobby leaned into the open driver's side door. He took a long look at Sam before turning his attention to Dean.

Dean said, "Towanda, Pennsylvania is about an hour from here. It's random enough and far enough that we can hold up there for a day or two before making the drive to your house."

"Okay," Bobby said. "What do you think, Sam?"

Sam jerked like he was startled. "Yeah, sounds good."

The words were Sam's but the way he squeezed his good hand into a fist and tensed up, Dean almost expected him to throw a punch.

"After I get the truck, I'll head to you," Bobby said.

Dean thanked Irv for his help and told Bobby to be careful. Then he pulled out of the parking lot to head for the freeway.

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An hour later, Dean rented a room at a crap motel in Pennsylvania. Sam helped carry in their gear before he headed towards the bathroom. He took a long shower and when he emerged, wrapped in a towel, steam followed him out. Apparently he'd kept the cast out of the water because it looked dry. He picked up the sweats and t-shirt that Dean had found for him and disappeared into the bathroom again.

When he came back out, he was dressed. He slid into one of the beds and rolled on to his side, facing away from Dean.

Dean decided his brother needed sleep so he didn't bother him about it. A small restaurant sat in a parking lot connected to the motel so Dean called ahead to order food. He waited ten minutes then drove over to pick it up. Normally he would have walked the short distance but he didn't want to leave Sam alone.

Dean returned with a chef salad for Sam and two cheeseburgers with fries for himself and Bobby. Sam took the food from him with barely an acknowledgement. The hospital had given Sam a sandwich earlier but he still ate the salad ravenously and drank two beers. Dean wished he'd thought of food sooner.

"When was the last time you ate?" Dean said.

"Hospital," Sam said, around a mouthful of lettuce and ham.

"Before that."

Sam shrugged, finishing the last of his beer. "Breakfast at that motel, I guess."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. Anger didn't come close to the fury rampaging to the surface but he didn't know what to do with it.

"We could've stopped someplace sooner. Why didn't you say anything?"

"You said you wanted to get here so I figured, we'd get something here like we always do."

Dean pushed his food away and leaned forward. "Sam, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't think you are. You're not acting right. How do you feel?"

Sam shrugged. "My arm hurts but…"

"But, what?"

"That's it. I'm fine."

"Smoke on the Water" broke the moment. Sam flinched when Dean stood up and reached in his pocket. He pulled the cell out and the music abruptly stopped.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said while he watched his brother. Sam stood up and moved to the head of the bed where he sat back down. He was watching the motel door so intently Dean turned to look thinking there was going to be something there. All he saw was the closed door.

"You boys settled in?" Bobby said.

"We ate. Got some food for you to stay here the night and then I'm thinking we'll head to your place in the morning."

"How's Sam doing?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Listen, if you boys are all right, I'm going to start driving home. I don't like leaving the phones alone this long."

"Oh, yeah, we're fine, Bobby. Do what you need to do."

Dean turned to look at the door again when Sam backed up. He stood in the narrow space between the bed and the wall.

"What's going on?" Bobby said.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing. I'll call you back in a while to check in."

Dean disconnected the call. He slipped the phone back in his pocket.

"Sam?" Sam cut his gaze over to Dean then back to the door. "What's going on?"

"I keep hearing something outside the door. You said you killed the monster."

"I did kill it."

Dean walked over and opened the motel door. He stepped out and looked in both directions. There was nothing out there. No humans, pets or monsters, just a couple pigeons fighting over a candy wrapper.

He went back in the room.

"Nothing out there," he said to Sam.

Since Sam was a kid, he had ticks that twitched through his face whenever he was agitated and didn't know what to do or, was doing the wrong thing. Dean suspected the former in this case because Sam looked like he was gearing up for a seizure.

"There's no monster," Dean said. "Not tonight. We killed everything that was after us, okay?"

"Yeah…okay."

Sam shuffled out of the space he had retreated to and headed for the bathroom. Dean watched him go thinking about the photos on the wall where Sam was held. He didn't have the first idea of how to talk about that, especially when Sam had put about a decade of not talking about it between them.

Dean looked at the silent television then at the laptop then at the neon lights of a bar shining across the street. He picked the TV remote up from the small table that separated the two beds. He dropped it when he heard a yell from the bathroom.

He barged through the closed door to find Sam curled over. He was making strangled sounds in his throat. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was contorted.

"Sammy," Dean said. He put his hands on Sam's shoulders, feeling him tremble with every breath. "What is it?"

"AJ," Sam said, barely any sound coming through clenched lips.

"Breathe, Sam, breathe, she's not here."

Sam made another strangled noise before going quiet. The only sound in the room came from the mouthfuls of air he dragged into his lungs.

"Okay," Sam said. "I'm okay. She stopped."

"What are you talking about? She's dead."

"It's the same. It's what she did back at the house." Sam pushed away from Dean.

He walked into the main room and Dean followed.

"What do you mean?" Dean said.

"The pain, like, like getting stabbed. It's still happening."

Sam stopped. He put his hand on the back of his neck as he said, "But, that can't be right, can it? She's dead."

"Let's go to the hospital," Dean said."Maybe the doctor missed something."

Sam shook his head. "You know she didn't. I just…I must be having some kind of flashback. Let me get some sleep. I'm sure that'll fix it."

"Sammy, it might be more than that."

Sam frowned at him. "Like what?"

"I saw the pictures. The pictures on the door in the room where you were held."

Sam threw his good hand up and buried it in his hair. He pulled it down as he paced away from Dean.

"Damn it," he said.

"Just take it easy, it's not that bad."

Sam swung back around. "Look, Dean, I don't want to talk about this. What happened, happened. It was a long time ago. I just want to get some sleep."

"If you want to talk…"

"I don't."

The definitive answer left Dean empty. He didn't want to talk about it either but he felt like a bad brother for wishing they could avoid the subject.

He stood quietly while Sam threw himself on to the bed and rolled on to his side. He tucked his good arm under the pillow and his broken arm beside it.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're staying, right? Not going out or anything."

"I'll be here all night."

Dean watched while Sam visibly relaxed. Several minutes later, a soft snore and even breathing filled the room.

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 **Tuesday-Day Eight**

"I don't know, Bobby, all he does is sleep."

Sam heard the worry in Dean's voice and hated being the cause of it.

"It's been almost a full day. I think it's time to take the bull by the horns."

Dean made a snorting noise and Sam guessed that Bobby didn't agree.

"I'm awake," Sam said, hoping to avoid Dean's version of taking the bull by the horns.

"Hey, how you feeling?" Dean said.

Dean didn't end the call with Bobby. Sam pushed and squirmed awkwardly until he could sit up and lean against the wall. His head started spiking shafts of pain and he rubbed his eyes. His casted arm lay heavy and useless against his stomach.

"Okay," he said.

Unease filled him though. He kept feeling eyes on him, kept expecting the monster from the hall to find him. The digital clock changed digits with a sizzle that made him wonder if it was ready to spark a fire.

"Sammy," Dean said.

"What?"

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just…l'm waking up is all."

"Hanging up, …uh, yeah…will do."

Dean pocketed his phone. "All right, you hungry? I hit the market down the street. We have cereal, milk, coffee, a couple day old muffins, what do you want?"

Dean left him alone, Sam thought. He said he wouldn't but he did. And he forgot him, forgot he existed.

"I'm not hungry," Sam said.

The clock beside the bed grew louder. Sam shifted under the sound. He looked towards the motel door, shuddering as the image of it bursting open flashed through his mind. Rubbing his eyes again, he told himself to relax. He pushed the covers off and turned around to put his feet on the floor. The carpet felt rough and cold. He didn't stand up.

"Are you all right?" Dean said.

"A little jumpy, okay? It's just a side effect."

"Why don't you grab a shower? Get some of the grime off."

"Yeah, good idea."

"Careful to keep your wing dry," Dean said.

Sam made it a couple of steps before his gut lit up with slashing pain. He cursed as he pulled his casted arm in putting pressure on the injury. But, there wasn't an injury and he knew it. He doubled over while something carved a hole in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes closed and forced back any sound.

"It's okay, it's okay. Shsh." Dean's voice pushed through the pain, his hands on Sam's shoulders grounding and safe. "You're okay, Sammy, you're okay."

Gradually the throbbing started to fade. Sam let himself breathe again. The vise in his belly slowly loosened.

"That's it. Shsh. You're okay," Dean said and finally it was true.

The pain lessened to nothing and Sam could almost imagine that it hadn't happened again.

"It's over," Sam said. His voice sounded weak in his own ears.

Dean guided him, steering him towards the bed. Sam struggled back. He didn't want to be there. He couldn't trust Dean to stay with him or even remember him, so he couldn't trust him for anything else.

Dean gave a frustrated noise then released Sam to stand on his own. "We're going to the hospital," he said.

Sam wished that he dared to sleep. His broken arm felt too heavy, like it was weighing him down. But, he stood taller instead.

"I don't want to," he said.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to keep picking you up. My back can't take it."

"Then leave me alone," Sam said, his temper and tone snapping.

Dean held up his hands. "That's not what I meant. There's something wrong."

"It's called phantom pain, Dean, it's not that unusual."

"Don't be stupid."

Between the unrelenting pressure of something watching him and being berated by this brother, Sam couldn't stand being still.

"I'm going out."

"No, you're not," Dean said.

"Stop me."

"Don't make me because I will."

"Good luck with that." The challenge Sam threw surprised even him.

Dean scowled as he moved to stand in front of him. Sam knew he was no match for his brother, not with a broken arm. He looked at Dean and at the door several feet away and suddenly he had to get out of there. Ugly sensations overtook him like an ocean wave slamming through his body. He couldn't breathe, sweat broke out across his skin, his limbs started to tremble and all he could see was the door. He pushed into Dean who stepped back, looking like he couldn't believe what was happening.

"Let me go," Sam said.

"Sammy," Dean said.

"Just let me go. You can't keep me here."

"Calm down."

"You can't hold me like this," Sam said, unable to keep the plea out of his voice. "Let me go."

"Sam…Sammy…come on, I'm not. I don't know what you're…"

The horrible jab to his gut brought Sam to his knees. He doubled over with a cry. AJ twisted his insides like it was nothing and he couldn't do anything to stop her.

"She won't let me go." Sam gasped out the words, between strangled attempts not to scream.

Dean dropped beside him. He grasped Sam's shoulders and put his face close to his.

"No. You hear me? She's not here. She's not here!"


	12. Chapter 12

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 12

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It took several minutes for Dean to penetrate his brother's confusion and pain. Dean had seen Sam in pain before, plenty of times. He had held him through broken bones, talked him through stitches and teased him while icing sprains. But, seeing him collapsed, making terrible noises in the back of his throat, contorting smaller and smaller, was something he had never seen and never wanted to see.

Finally, Dean managed to reach him by causing a different pain. He squeezed Sam's shoulder, pinching hard while he talked into his face. And Sam began to hear him and the pain in his torso started to ease as he melted against Dean.

"Please make her stop," Sam said. Exhaustion laced the words.

Awkwardly they tottered to their feet, Sam clumsy and weak; Dean trying to stay balanced getting his brother off the floor.

Dean knew Sam. He had watched his mannerisms evolve and had stood by him through a hundred traumas. Sam never surrendered. He fought until he couldn't fight and then he talked. Overmatched, injured, scared, it didn't matter because Sam drew from reserves of pure stubbornness and anger. He didn't know how to do anything else.

And that's what made these phantom attacks different. Because Sam was giving in and giving up and that just didn't happen.

Dean maneuvered his brother on to the bed and looked at him. He was pale as death and holding his broken arm close to his body like it was his only protection.

"It can't be her but it is. I don't understand," Sam said.

"What did she do to you?"

"Dean…"

"Just tell me."

"She just locked me in that room. Every now and then she'd come back and sort of…whammy me, I guess."

"It was intense, like just now?"

Sam nodded but he turned his face towards the wall.

"What else?"

"Nothing. I'm telling you."

"Sam, your arm is broken."

Sam sighed. "Foster did that."

"Why?"

Sam scoffed.

"Okay," Dean said. "So Foster stayed old school but AJ was throwing spells around. There was a lot of EMF being loaded into your room. And there was an altar next door. Bobby said they set up a fear trap. That'd make sense with those pictures too. Put your mind on a memory when you were helpless and then ramp up the sensation."

Sam stood up again looking like a trapped animal.

"I burned the hex bags and the blood she had," Dean said. "That should've taken care of it."

"Something's wrong. It's not just the sudden pain. I feel like someone's watching me. I can't shake this fear, this weird feeling that something's about to happen."

Dean scowled and shook his head. "Anything else you want to share?"

Sam shook his head. "I know it's irrational."

Dean scratched his forehead. "Sam, you lied to me about what happened when you were a kid. I asked you flat out and you lied."

"Dean…"

"No, no excuses. You have to be honest now. Did anything like that happen again, this time or a few months ago?"

Sam shook his head. "Gleason's ghost, the last time, got a little friendly. You walked in on him at the hospital."

"Yeah, I remember." Dean didn't want to think about it.

"That was it. And this time it wasn't about…she just wants to punish me because her family's dead."

"Wanted to punish you, past tense, Sam, she's dead."

Sam walked across the room, his shoulders slumped and his movements slow.

"It has to be a spell," Dean said, still trying to figure things out. "She made me forget you. That lasted a while. Bobby got someone to snap me out of it."

Sam turned around. "Do you think they can help me?"

"I don't see…" Dean stopped. He was about to confirm that Audrey could probably do the job. But, if he did that, wouldn't the spell attack again? That's how it had worked on him. "I don't see how she can. AJ's brainwashing was all about the hex bags and I already burned them so…I don't think so. We need to think of something else."

Dean hated the way Sam turned his back again to stare out the window.

"Let me think on it more," he said."I'll call Bobby. Maybe you should sleep."

"I just woke up," Sam said, scorn in his voice.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm not…"

"Sure you are. You slept through like four feedings."

Sam shrugged but Dean didn't care about food. He cared about calling Bobby and getting Audrey.

"You're feeling okay enough for me to go?" Dean said.

Sam barked out a laugh as he turned away from the glass. Dean opened his hands in question.

"Sorry," Sam said, nodding towards the kitchen area and the supplies he had bought earlier. "You already did that."

"Yeah, I was thinking real food." Dean rolled his eyes. He really needed to get away from Sam to call Bobby.

"I'll eat anything. I'm starving."

"Thought you said you weren't."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It comes and goes."

Dean wondered if that was a sign that the spell was dissipating but he didn't dare hope yet.

"You know that last attack," Sam said. "It was…different, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it hurt, you know, obviously. But, I don't think it was as intense. Maybe it's just wishful thinking."

Dean shrugged. "She's dead. Hex bags destroyed. Makes sense."

Sam nodded. He grew quiet and stared off and Dean guessed he was remembering.

"What is it?" Dean said.

"Just something she said about her father. If he lived in a different time, boys would have been honored by his attention."

"Sick bitch."

"Yes and no. It was normal for Roman men to have young male sex partners. Men in ancient Greece took adolescent boys for sex but the adult was supposed to educate and protect the child at the same time."

Dean scowled, hating Sam's logical tone. He turned away as anger started surging to the surface. He didn't care about dead civilizations or AJ Gleason's justifications. He was furious at Sam for not telling him the truth, furious at the whole dead Gleason family and he was furious at his father for letting Sam get taken when he was fourteen. Rage coursed through every part of him but he didn't know what to do with it so he paced.

"Dad should have had you checked out," Dean said.

"He wanted to but I wouldn't go."

"So, we're still dealing with a spell." Dean needed to change the subject. "When I started to break programming, I'd get a splitting headache. It felt like a cleaver in my skull."

"Mine is more of a knife to the gut."

"Different strokes, I guess."

"We need food," Dean said, still wanting to get out of the room in order to arrange for Audrey to meet them.

"Go. I'll be fine."

"Just watch TV or something. Keep reminding yourself that whatever you're feeling isn't real."

Sam nodded. His face was washed of color and his eyes looked cloudy. He kept flexing the fingers poking out of his cast.

"We're going to fix this, Sam."

"How do you know?"

"Cuz I'm the big brother."

"Dean…"

"We're going to kick it in the ass like we always do. You have to trust me, Sammy."

Sam nodded, giving a weak smile.

Dean grabbed his jacket and headed out.

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After Dean left, Sam noticed he was standing in the middle of the motel room and not doing anything. He looked around, taking in the two full beds, the television and mini kitchen. He didn't want to be there. The room felt small. But, he didn't want to be outside either. Anything could be outside; at least he knew what was in the room.

Unless something slithered in through the bathroom window. Sam exhaled looked towards the narrow air vents. He remembered an X-Files episode where a monster could elongate his body and fit through tiny spaces.

"That's TV, not real life," Dean reminded him in his head.

Dean. One more time his brother opted to leave him alone. Sam reminded himself that he didn't need a babysitter but a shiver raced through him as he realized that he only had one good arm and anything that wanted to get him probably could. How could he fight off Big Foot or a Wendigo or any monster with a broken arm? If Dean was really worried about him, he wouldn't have left. Dean already proved he couldn't be relied on. After all, he forgot that Sam existed.

Sam moved towards the back wall. From there he could see the two air vents plus the front door and the bathroom door. He couldn't think of a better place to watch his surroundings. He stayed still checking and re-checking each point of egress. If something wanted in, at least he would see it coming.

Ignoring the way his heart pounded against his ribs, he glanced towards the duffel bags. There were guns inside. He'd need one if anything came crashing inside. He hated to leave the wall but he needed the gun. He swallowed and took a few steps forward. If there was a monster nearby, this would be the best time to attack. Standing in the middle of the room with his back exposed, it would be easy to kill him.

Sam moved quickly trying hard to concentrate on getting the weapon rather than watching every direction. He unzipped the closest bag which was Dean's. Laying on top was the Taurus that his brother favored. He lifted it, awkwardly holding it against his body for leverage as he snapped the chamber to make sure it was loaded. He snapped it back in place then rose slowly and carried the gun back. He reclaimed his space at the wall, glad to have a solid mass behind him and a gun at his side.

Sam stiffened when he heard something, a growl maybe coming from outside the door. He stood up straighter breathing slow to keep his hands from shaking. The clock near the bed ticked louder and the small refrigerator in the kitchen groaned to life. Sam waited to see the monster, knowing it would break in, feeling its breath even though it remained unseen.

He remembered the monster in the hall at the Gleason estate. He had heard it growling and pacing outside his door. He had known it would attack him if he tried to leave the room. If Dean was telling the truth about killing it then he must have killed something else. Sam knew his monster lived and he knew it had followed him to the motel. It had probably hidden until Dean left knowing that Sam was an easy target alone.

Sam rolled his shoulders, wincing at the pull on his broken arm. The gun hung heavily in his hand. He wished the monster would come in. He needed to act, to kill it or be killed by it. The waiting reminded him of the barn. The fear back then had been overwhelming. Waiting for Charles Glass…Charles Gleason to come back to that little attic room had been like that too, terrible, encompassing terror he couldn't escape. Like waiting for a monster to break into his room and rip him to shreds.

He thought he should open the door and meet it. He could barrel into the parking lot and shoot it before it could react. Unless it was a really fast monster or something with impenetrable skin or a vampire that had to be decapitated or a Wendigo that had be torched. In truth he had no idea what was out there and the gun in his hand might be useless.

He stared at the door. He couldn't force himself to go out. He wanted to…badly. Every part of him wanted to leave the room and destroy the evil outside. He knew he could do it. He'd been doing it his entire life. But, he couldn't move. His legs refused him. It felt like his feet were hardened in cement. It felt like his entire body weighed five hundred pounds and nothing could move him forward.

Sam closed his eyes and slumped backward using the wall for support. His fingers lost their grip on the gun and it thudded to the floor. A scratching at the door startled him and he jerked forward. His heart started its latest escape attempt and he wiped wet palms against his jeans. The door handle turned. Sam sank to a crouch, covering his head. His body started shaking. He clamped down on his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He braced himself for the claws or the teeth to rip him to shreds, crying out when the pressure fell on his back.

"Sam. Sammy, come on. What's going on?" The aroma of hot oil and potatoes gradually seeped into Sam's brain. It took even longer for the words battering his brain to make sense.

Sam took long breaths, barely able to keep from toppling over. His legs threatened to dump him. He couldn't stop shaking no matter how much he concentrated. Dean dragged him off the floor and unceremoniously dropped him on the bed. Sam could feel his brother pacing.

"Dude, what is going on?" Dean said.

But, he couldn't answer. If he started talking he'd sound like a maniac. He'd sound crazy.

"Damn it, Sam."

Words burst out of him. "The monster."

"There is no monster." Dean sounded angry."How many times do we have to do this?"

"You said you wouldn't leave and you left. You forgot I existed. Why should I believe anything you say?"

"It was a spell. I would never just…"

"And then you left."

"When? What are you talking about?"

"Last night. You said you wouldn't leave but you did. Maybe you lied about the monster too."

"You mean when I went and got food? Is that what's stuck? I'm sorry, I didn't know it was a big deal to get you breakfast."

"It was a lie."

"Sam, listen to me. Whatever AJ did to you is making you like this. You have to trust me."

The pain started low and soft through his gut but it was building. Sam held his breath. He refused to let Dean see. He had to hide it, just like his fear, just like his doubt. Dean would decide he was weak and he'd leave. He wouldn't stay with a handicapped brother when there were monsters to fight.

Sam couldn't look at Dean. If he did then Dean would see that the pain was back. It'd be too much.

"Look, it's going to be okay. Just try to hang in there a little while. The spell can't last forever."

Sam nodded, silently agreeing but not believing. He'd be a cripple. His arm wasn't going to heal right. He'd always feel the monster waiting to rip him up. He'd never get away from the fear.

He flinched when Dean patted his shoulder but if his brother noticed he didn't show it.

Dean retrieved a bag from the floor and Sam realized he could smell french fries.

"Eat something, you'll feel better."

"I'm not hungry."

Sam crawled to the top of the bed and curled up on his side. If he tucked his legs in, close to his belly, the pain wasn't so bad. He shifted until he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes. He could feel the monster watching from outside. He could feel his brother's eyes too.


	13. Chapter 13

Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

This is the end of the story. Thank you to all who stayed with me throughout. Thank you to all who read and reviewed, followed or clicked "favorite". The writing should be reward of its own but it's the readers who make the effort truly worthwhile.

Part 13

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 **Wednesday-Day Nine**

Audrey Mitchell knocked on the motel door. Dean let her in. Sam sat up, the most movement Dean had seen from him in several hours. With sunken eyes, hair messed and sticking up, and a complexion that rivaled some corpses he'd seen, Dean started wishing he'd forced his brother to go to the hospital.

Bobby showed up in time for Dean to introduce Audrey to Sam.

"She's a scryer," Dean said. "She's a friend of Bobby's."

Audrey held her hand out. Sam stood up slowly and shook it. Then he pushed the bangs away from his face and excused himself to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Dean whispered to Audrey.

"Don't tell him what you're here for until you're ready to start. That's some kind of trigger."

"It's all right, Dean. Bobby filled me in."

Dean felt bad about having Bobby turn around and come all the way back to Pennsylvania but with Sam in trouble, he couldn't worry about a little time and gas.

"She's got an idea about this, don't you, Audrey?" Bobby said. He brushed a hand over Audrey's shoulder as he passed her.

"I do. But, it's kind of a good news, bad news situation," she said. She glanced at Bobby who smiled and nodded for her to continue. "I think the spell on your brother will wear off on its own. I want to talk to him, try some triggers to see but, I think it will."

"Why? Why is it different than what she did to me?"

"She wanted you to go away forever. She needed you to be gone and to never remember your brother."

"Yeah," Dean said. "That's right."

"With Sam, I think AJ used a form of black magic that employs hypnosis. But, her goal was only to break him down. Bobby said she wanted to possess Sam, to destroy him. She wouldn't want the spell to be permanent because it would always be the spell that controlled him."

The bathroom door clicked open and Sam returned. His hair was slicked back with water and some color had returned to his face. He lurched more than walked into the room.

"Sit down before you fall down, boy," Bobby said.

Sam obeyed. Sam would fight their father at every turn but he tended to listen to Bobby's orders.

Audrey knelt in front of Sam and took one of his hands. She pulled the crystal necklace from under her shirt. Sam recoiled from her but Dean guessed he was surprised by her proximity, not repelled by her.

"I'm going to help you. Dean and Bobby are going to be right here the whole time. But, what happens next is between us."

Sam's eyes narrowed but he didn't look away or pull back his hand and Dean knew that Audrey was using magic of her own.

"Count backwards with me, Sam," Audrey said. "100, 99, 98…"

Sam's voice joined hers in a slow cadence. He looked away from her for a moment, just a moment and Dean swallowed against the fear in his brother's eyes. Then Sam's gaze drew back towards Audrey and they counted to 68 before Sam's shoulders slumped and his eyes lost focus.

"AJ was a witch," Audrey said. "She planted thoughts and fears in you."

Sam nodded hesitantly but he wasn't looking at Audrey or at anything. He reminded Dean of someone who is blind and never quite lifts their head to look around.

"The things she told you. They can't hurt you. You're safe now."

Sam kept nodding, slowly and carefully.

"There's nothing to fear. Say it."

"There's…there's a monster outside."

"No, Sam, there isn't. She lied to you. There's nothing to fear."

Sam stood up abruptly. He pushed Audrey out of the way, knocking her over. He only made it a couple of steps before he stopped. He looked towards Dean who had rushed to his side and was blocking the exit. Then he looked towards Bobby who was standing near the bed, also poised and ready to step in.

"What's going on?" Sam said.

Bobby reached out a hand and pulled Audrey off the floor. She straightened her clothes and fluffed at her hair as she stood.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I pushed too fast."

"Dean," Sam said. "What is going on?"

"A little hypnosis to undo…you know what, it doesn't matter," Dean said.

"I want to try something else," Audrey said.

"Why don't you and Dean go outside and discuss it? I'll keep Sam company," Bobby said.

"If I'm the 'it' then let's everybody talk about," Sam said.

"That's not a good idea," Dean said. "Trust me."

Dean watched his brother mull that over. Reluctantly, Sam nodded. Dean wondered if it was part of AJ's programming that made him give in so easily.

"This is the person who helped you, isn't it? You said she couldn't help me."

"Well, it's looking like I was right so…just hang out a minute, okay?"

Sam tossed up his hands, surrendering but not looking happy about it. Bobby patted him on the shoulder.

Dean walked outside. Cold darkness hung over the parking lot. A single orange light illuminated a small patch of sidewalk several feet away. He waited until he heard the door snick closed before he spoke to Audrey.

"What happened?"

"I was hoping to take away some of the power behind AJ's spell. I had hoped that under hypnosis he'd be open to a different suggestion but as you saw, he wasn't ready."

"Look, if it's going to work, Bobby and I can protect you."

"That tumble was nothing, Dean, I'm not afraid to try again. But, Sam panicked. I think we need to take a softer approach."

"You haven't seen him when the pain hits but he can't keep going through that."

"I'm doing more than hypnotizing your brother. I'm using my abilities to see into him and into what was done to him. I'm telling you that he'll heal but it's going to take time."

"There's no such thing as an irreversible spell. You just have to find the right ingredients and incantation."

"You're right. I can try some things. Maybe hit on the right combination and erase all the damage that the witch put in place. But, Sam will pay the price for trial and error because AJ set this up with trip wires. When he fights the programming, he gets punished. You've seen it."

"You don't know Sam. He's tougher than you think. He can take it."

"But, why does he need to be? Let me hypnotize him, give him some suggestions that will help him stay calm and wait it out."

"For how long? A week? A month? Years?"

"It won't be years. A few weeks at most and I'll be surprised if it holds that long. And it'll be getting better all the time."

Dean rubbed his chin and looked towards the cloud covered sky. Rain hovered there just waiting to start falling again.

"How do you know?"

"Because this is what I do, Dean. I can see so deeply inside him. The impressions are dark and damaging. She capitalized on a terrible childhood ordeal. She threatened him with the same torture he just survived a few weeks ago. She tapped into his doubts about himself. She didn't leave him any secrets or any place to hide. But, despite all that, I see light around his edges. I can feel some gray creeping into the deep black that she left behind. I'm not wrong, Dean. If you give him some time, he will heal on his own."

Dean didn't like it. He wanted a cast or a splint or antibiotics. He wanted a cure, not a waiting game. But, he knew Audrey wasn't lying and if Bobby recommended her then she probably wasn't wrong.

Sunday-Day 13

Sam sank his good hand into the pocket of his jeans and turned his face into the cold breeze coming through the parking lot. The air smelled like rain. He shivered, turning his shoulders in to preserve some warmth.

He flinched when a door several feet away burst open spitting out two young boys. The children wore baseball gloves. One of them, the smaller one, ran away from the first then turned around and yelled something that Sam couldn't hear. A moment later the taller of the two threw a baseball ball in a solid line and the other boy caught it. Sam watched them playing catch and wondered how many times he and Dean had done the same thing when they were young. He wondered when they stopped.

The room door behind him opened and Dean stood there wearing his worn jeans and a threadbare t-shirt. Sam made a mental note that they needed to stop and replace some of their clothes.

Dean clutched a duffle in his hand as he nudged by Sam to head towards the trunk of the Impala. The two of them had spent several days in the small motel room and they were ready for some new scenery.

Sam went inside and picked up his bag. He took one last look around the room to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything then walked back out. He dropped his bag in the trunk.

Dean slipped behind the steering wheel without speaking. Sam took the passenger seat where he spent most of his time.

"Remember when Dad took us to that Red Sox game?" Dean said and Sam noticed he was watching the two boys play catch.

"Yeah. We were down behind home plate. Someone gave him tickets, didn't they?"

"He'd gotten rid of a poltergeist and that's how the parents thanked him."

"We ate all kinds of crap, remember? And the Red Sox won."

"Dad was in a great mood."

Sam nodded. He remembered the smell of popcorn, the sound of people yelling and the thwack when one of the players hit the ball. It had been amazing.

Dean pulled out of the parking lot. He drove towards the I-90 entrance. He didn't speak again until he merged on to the interstate.

"So, how are you feeling?" Dean said.

"I'm fine," Sam said.

"You can tell me if you're not," Dean said.

"No, really, I'm better."

It was mostly true. He knew, decisively, that the monster that AJ threatened him with didn't exist. He felt a little stupid that he ever believed her.

His fear that any of the Gleason clan was still alive and coming to get him had dissipated.

Fear still hung around the edges. Anxiety thrummed through him but it didn't seem as bad as the day before or the day before that. He had nearly doubled over from one of the phantom attacks that morning. But, he hadn't. It was bad but not as bad.

Audrey Mitchell gave him some post-hypnotic suggestions that seemed to be helping. Sam preferred to think of them that way rather than as some kind of counter-spell.

"You can talk to me about what happened when you were a kid too, you know," Dean said.

Sam exhaled softly. He glanced at his brother then back out the windshield.

"There is nothing in me that wants to talk about that," he said.

"But, if you do…"

"If I do," Sam said.

Sam reached out and turned on the radio. A Bob Seger ballad started and he leaned back letting the sound relax him. Dean laughed and Sam looked at him.

"I think Bobby's got something going with Audrey," Dean said.

Sam chuckled. "He was kind of touchy with her."

"Touchy? He was on her like tape."

Dean laughed again and Sam joined him, feeling more of his anxiety slip away. As the tires met the main road, he rubbed his eyes. The haze of the sun trying to break through the last thin layer of clouds created a glare. It probably didn't help that he'd been indoors for several days too.

He glanced in the side view mirror then in the rearview.

"Did you bring enough gas?" Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Plenty."

"And the place is deserted, right?"

"The Feds came in and cleared it out. Found two more missing kids plus Griff hiding on the property."

"Won't there be cops guarding the place?"

"Maybe. From what I could get from the locals, the evidence has been collected and all the photos are taken. Everyone who could be arrested was taken. There aren't any relatives left so right now the house and grounds are state property until they can sell it."

When Sam fell silent, Dean turned the radio up louder and drove towards Cayuga. Neither of them spoke much on the way. He drove to the Gleason property. As they circled it, they discovered a security fence had been erected around the perimeter. Dean guessed the Feds probably hired a couple of rent-a-cops to patrol it but he didn't think they'd have much trouble breaking in after dark.

Dean drove to a diner outside of town. They didn't want to risk a helpful witness describing the Impala or either of them to the Cayuga police. As they walked by the picture window near the entrance, Dean nodded at a "Missing" poster for Sheriff Carlisle that was posted there.

"Awkward," Dean said to Sam who nodded.

They ate a leisurely lunch then spent some time at a pool hall while Dean sank balls for practice. Dean wanted to hustle some money but Sam thought it would draw too much attention to them.

When Sam started to feel closed in, anxiety pressing up from inside him, they retreated back to the car. It took a while for him to get over it and he was reminded that AJ's spell was fading but not gone. Dean sat with him silently, letting him manage the fear on his own but Sam felt his worry hanging over him.

Evening finally came with its darkness and Dean drove back to the Gleason estate. He parked a block away. They took the gas cans from the trunk and carried them up the hill. Trees lined the narrow street. No houses or cars filled the space. The Gleason's had somehow ensured their privacy.

They walked to the back of the property. Dean used bolt cutters to snap the lock on the narrow gate. They used a nearby tree to climb up to the stone barrier that surrounded the estate. Sam struggled with climbing because of his broken arm but he managed to get himself high enough to get across the stone and on to the ground. Dean handed off the gas cans to Sam then climbed over too.

When Sam saw the barn sitting like a sleeping monster, he stopped. His breath caught and he wasn't sure he could move.

"We don't have to do this. They'll probably demo it anyway."

"I have to," Sam said.

He steeled his resolve and forced his legs to work. He walked up to the doors. The wooden beam lay over the latch. He pushed it off. The doors squeaked open on rusty hinges.

Sam stood at the threshold and took in the gutted center. The chains and pulley were gone. The hook at the ceiling was gone. The old bucket was gone. When the FBI took the evidence, they had taken everything.

Sam shook his head. "It's just a barn now."

"That's all it ever was. Just a barn. Just a building," Dean said. "Evil people but just a building."

Sam walked to the far wall. He set one can of gas on the ground. He spun the cap and with a heave of exertion he splashed the rotting wood.

Dean followed his example using the leftover straw and debris for fuel.

When all four cans had been exhausted, Dean moved to the door. Sam joined him. Dean took a glass bottle out of his jacket. Gasoline sloshed inside it. A strip of soaked cloth stuck out of the mouth.

With one last look at his brother, Sam lit a match. He set the cloth on fire, took the bottle from Dean and threw it against the wall. Dean grabbed his arm and they started running to the far end of the property. The whoosh of heat and the smell of burning gas swept over them. When they reached the wall where they had jumped inside the property, they both stopped to look.

The barn was fully engulfed. The dry wood of the structure lit and crackled like kindling. The night sky turned bright with great flames shooting into the air. The sound was like moaning mixed with popping as the old barn collapsed in on itself.

Sam gripped Dean's shoulder when a flash of pain lit his gut. He closed his eyes for just a moment, breathing through it. Dean put his hand against Sam's back in support. The sharp jab passed and Sam took in some gulping breaths. He coughed from the smoke reaching them.

"Time to go," Dean said.

Sam agreed. Dean boosted Sam to the top of the stone fence then followed. They ignored the tree and jumped to the ground. After leaving through the open gate they made their way back to the Impala.

Once they settled into the car and were driving towards the interstate, Sam let out a breath he'd been holding. He thought about the destruction and felt a wave of satisfaction. He wondered if they could return in a while and burn the house. He didn't speak that out loud.

"Where are we going?" He said.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't want to stop. Let's just get out of New York and Pennsylvania. How about Florida or Texas or New Mexico?"

Dean nodded. "We can do that."

Sam looked at his brother. "Thanks," he said. "You know, for all of it." Internally he ticked things off: saving me, burning down the barn, killing AJ.

"Yeah, okay, turn on the radio. I'm not up for a group hug," Dean said. He rubbed his eyebrow and didn't look at Sam.

Sam chuckled. He turned on the radio and stared at the road as it wound in front of them. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.

A/N: Thank you again for reading. Just a side note but Irv Franklin is the hunter who was killed by Abaddon's possessed soldiers in Season 9. He was in one episode but there is mention made that he had worked with Bobby in the past.


End file.
